


Don't Drink the Water

by kXzEcho



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cartman's not much of an ass but is still an ass, Character Death Both Minor and Major, Character Development, Escaping South Park, F/M, Gore, Kenny's immortality is Canon, Kyle still has diabetes, M/M, Naive Yet Not So Naive Butters, Pip's death is happily ignored, Raiders, Road Trip, Scheming Satan, Slow Build to Apocalypse, Tag Whore, Theft, Tweek is useful in the apocalypse, Viruses, Your friendly neighborhood Mysterion, Zombies, all grown up, zombie suptypes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kXzEcho/pseuds/kXzEcho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Note: I'm currently revamping this entire story and will mostly likely only post once I finish the first arc and am well into the second. I don't know when the new version will be released, but feel free to read the old one. </p><p>Summary: It's nearing the end of Cartman and his group of friend's senior year and all they want to do is graduate without being slowed down by any insane incidents South Park is prone to experience. When a viral infection begins to spread in South Park and, shortly, the world, any hope of graduating is shot down forever as society is just about destroyed.</p><p>Anyone overtaken by the virus experiences a deterioration of the mind and body at an alarming rate. To make matters worse, it forces its host to attack, murder, and cannibalize on the living: human or animal.</p><p>All they can do now is flee from South Park indefinitely and survive. Whatever you do, don't drink the water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cartman's Blessing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is a lot of fun to write. The fic started as a simple "what if" idea that quickly grew out of control as I kept coming up with scene after scene of what could happen. I've already decided what the ending will be and have figured out the entire lead up to the breakout of the Zombie Apocalypse. 
> 
> This is my first time actually attempting to write a South Park fanfic. It was a challenge to get myself prepared and motivated enough to actually write it, because I was fearful of writing the characters wrong and using the incorrect style to write the actual story. After a week of actual planning for both the plot and the characterization of South park all grown up, I decided to give it a shot.
> 
> I'm also a little nervous about the romance aspect of it, seeing as I've never focused too much on romance in any short stories I've written. Let me know how well I did, especially when chapter 2 is finished and released.
> 
> I appreciate any feedback and critique you give. If you do happen to find something that you're unhappy with (whether it's the style or any potential OOCness), don't hesitate to message me, because I want this story to be an enjoyable experience both on my end and yours.
> 
> Side Note: Illustrations will be added as time wears on.

###    
  
Don't Drink the Water

“Absolutely not.”

“I didn’t say anything yet, Cartman.”

“It’s obvious what you were going to ask, Kinny, and my answer is ‘no.’ This is going to be at my house, and that means you guys are going to abide by my rules,” here he paused briefly in order to force his final textbook into his overstuffed locker. Once this task was accomplished, he slammed his locker shut, turned around to look directly at Kenny, and crossed his arms defiantly with a single brow raised. “And frankly, Butters can spend the rest of his Fridays alone for all I fucking care. Either way, he’s not joining us.”

Kenny rolled his eyes in exasperation, his eyes being the only visible feature that expressed his intense frustration towards Cartman’s words, the rest of which was hidden behind his burnt-orange scarf that was wrapped tightly around his neck and mouth. He mustered up as much authority and conviction as he could into his muffled voice and looked directly into Cartman’s cold gaze, “Butters' been hanging out with us for years now and the only thing standing in the way of making him a permanent member of our group is our Friday nights. Face it Cartman, Butters is going to join us sooner or later. You may as well make it tonight.”

Cartman sneered, “I don’t have to do anything, Kinny. Just because you’ve got a hard-on for the fag doesn’t mean you can just force him on us.”

“My horniness aside,” Kenny began, eyes wandering towards the opposite end of the hall, a victorious glint suddenly gleaming in his eyes, “I think it’s in your best interest to make my blue balls happy in a couple of seconds, fat ass.”

“Now why the fuck do you think that-” Cartman cut himself short as his focus turned towards the pair that was quickly closing the distance between them. The scowl that had been previously enveloping his face dissolved and was soon replaced by a cocky smile. His tone of voice changed and its volume increased, which ensured that anyone walking past them could hear exactly what he had to say, “Lucky for you, Kinny, I’ve decided that you’re right. Butters has been hanging out with us for while now; it’d only be selfish of me to prevent him from joining us on our Friday nights. He can come.”

If Wendy wasn’t paying attention to Cartman before, she was now. She looked away from Token, eyeing him curiously, if not suspiciously. By their senior year, it was well known that these Friday nights were exclusive to only Cartman, Kenny, Stan, and Kyle. No outsiders were allowed to attend. Many had tried, but all of them had failed. Even Wendy, when she’d been dating Stan for the last time back in fifth grade, wasn’t allowed to go, and Stan had been attempting to persuade the group for years by then.

“Thanks, dude. I knew you’d pull through,” Kenny lightly knocked his fist into Cartman’s shoulder.

As soon as Wendy and Token walked out of earshot and Wendy’s lingering gaze finally changed its focus back to Token, Cartman’s cocky smile morphed back into its previous scowl. He grumbled angrily at Kenny, “You owe me, big time.”

“Ah, Ah, Ah, Not so fast. I helped you make Wendy practically wet with curiosity. You’re welcome, fat ass,” Kenny snickered as Cartman shoved past him, heading towards their next class. After a few moments, Kenny followed him, locking his hands casually behind his back with an air of innocence surrounding him, which was rather ineffective considering only a fool would ever perceive Kenny as innocent, especially when there was an infuriated Cartman stomping ahead of him.

Just as they walked past the threshold of the biology classroom door, the warning bell rang. They were there just in time. Kenny gave a brisk two-finger salute as soon as he saw Kyle and Stan sitting at the front of the room. It wasn’t too difficult of a feat to pinpoint their location, seeing as Kyle finally decided to ditch his ushanka back in ninth grade. His vibrant red hair could easily draw anyone’s attention, but, unlike his early years, to Kyle’s relief, his Jewfro seemed to finally calm down enough so that his curls could frame his face attractively rather than look like someone stuck a red hedge on the top of his head.

Kyle wasn’t able to rid himself completely of some sort of permanent fixture on his head. His black metal frame glasses replaced the green ushanka, much to Kyle’s dismay, but, hey, Stan thought they made him look hot, so that’s a plus. His fashion sense wasn’t much to be desired, though. His old orange and green coat was replaced by green sweatervests and white dress shirts. It was too boring for Kenny’s taste.

Kenny preferred his orange hoodie, his burnt-red orange scarf, his tattered jeans and the dozens of miscellaneous keychains he liked to hook up to his belt loops compared to Kyle’s clothes, thank you very much.

Stan, on the other hand, failed to get rid of his hat. Of course it wasn’t the same one that he had worn for most of his life. Seeing as he would grow out of it eventually, Stan had bought a larger version of it in advance as soon as he had come across the same hat sometime around tenth grade. The only difference now was that his hair was long enough so that his black bangs peaked out from underneath it. He also wore blue jeans and a brown sweater. Whenever Kenny went over to Stan’s, he usually raided Stan’s closet in order to get ahold of one of those sweaters and wear it over his jacket. They were comfy as fuck.

Cartman changed quite a bit over the years. As time wore on, height replaced Cartman’s girth, but he was still the fattest kid in his grade. He stood almost six feet tall, a couple of inches taller than Kenny and easily towered over Kyle who was five foot five, but he still hadn’t exceeded Stan’s height who stood six foot one. Cartman typically wore a red shirt and blue jeans with a black wristband on his right arm and occasionally wore a hat that looked like his old one, but preferred to forget it in the bowels of his dresser.  
  
Instead of sitting next to the three, with Cartman taking his place a desk over, Kenny took his usual seat near the back. With a smirk, he propped his feet up onto the back of the desk chair in front of him and playfully tapped the side of one of his sneakers against Butters’ head. Butters, who had been doodling in his notebook, was startled. He turned around to give the perpetrator a look of annoyance, but any animosity he had soon withered away when he noticed just who was the one that decided to bother him.  
  
“H-Hi Kenny.”  
  
An easy smile overtook Kenny’s face in response to the other blond’s greeting. Boy, did Butters look fine. Butters abandoned his old haircut way back when and decided to adopt a haircut similar to Niall Horan’s, but not the flipped up version of it, at least that's what Butters told him. Kenny, frankly, had no idea who he was. All he did know was that Butters new look made him horny and that it didn't sacrificing his hair's usual softness.  
  
Butters wasn’t much taller than Kyle, which Kenny didn't mind. He could comfortably hug him and hold his hands without a second thought as he was prone to do.  
  
Nowadays, he wore a light blue turtleneck, a checkered belt, and black skinny jeans that framed his perfectly round ass oh so nicely. What he wouldn't give to just put his hands on it.  
  
In one swift motion, Kenny moved his feet back where they belonged and leaned forward with one hand propping his head up. “Hey Butters,” Kenny’s muffled sing-song voice responded. “Boy, do I have good news for you.”  
  
The other blond looked at him curiously and was just about to encourage Kenny to continue, when Mrs. Lipschitz had finished taking attendance, “Class, quiet down now.” Initially very few people followed her request, that is, until she decided to smack her ruler as hard as she could on top of the nearest desk, which was, unfortunately, Tweek’s. He screamed in fear, jumping in his seat from sheer fright. Mrs. Lipschitz didn’t bat an eye, even after Craig gave her a look of annoyance and casually flipped her off.  
  
Mrs. Lipschitz might have been an attractive woman at one point in her long life, but it was obvious that those days were long gone. She always had this sour look on her face as if she had just drunk a bottle of sour milk. She was littered with wrinkles, odd hairs, moles, and warts. She was balding at the front of her head and what hair she had was frizzled and thin. She also had a mustache that would make any prepubescent boy jealous. With looks like hers, it wasn't a surprise that her personality was complete and utter shit.  
  
“Now that I have everyone’s attention,” she began, “I can begin the documentary that I have in store for today.” Almost everybody groaned irritably at that. She played a documentary every day. During it, no one was allowed to talk or do much of anything, really. If she caught anyone speaking, drawing, or handing notes to one another, the culprits were immediately given a detention. No questions asked. “Today we’ll be watching ‘Viruses: A Threat to Humanity’-” She was briefly interrupted by another shriek from Tweek. She ignored him once again, “And, like usual, pay close attention to what’s being said. This might be on our next quiz.” With that, she sat herself down back into the chair, started the video, and promptly began to play Flappy Birds on her smartphone afterwards.  
  


Kenny rolled his eyes at her last statement. That was a load of bullshit. They were never given any quizzes or tests in this class, and he didn’t expect her to give one anytime soon. That would mean the old hag actually had to put some effort into this class. He couldn’t really complain, though. This class was a slacker class through and through. All he had to do was fill out the occasional worksheet they were given and that was it. An ‘A’ was pretty much guaranteed.

“ _Viruses are tiny particles that are thousands of times smaller than human cells and bacteria. Unlike human cells and bacteria, viruses cannot exist on their own and thus, they require a host cell in order to survive._ ”

Kenny was barely listening to what was being said. Instead, he decided to risk the threat of Mrs. Lipschitz’s wrath. In a moment or two of furious scribbling, he tapped Butters shoulder when Mrs. Lipschitz looked particularly engrossed in her current game. Once Butters’ attention had been grabbed, he flashed the folded up piece of paper and handed it to him underneath the desk. Butters studied it carefully, reading Kenny’s handwriting with a look of surprise.

It read: _You’ve got Cartman’s blessing to join us tonight. Get ready to pack your things as soon as you get home, because we’re staying the night._

Butters started writing after a moment of contemplation. At the next moment of opportunity, he handed Kenny another note. His neat handwriting was a definite contrast to Kenny’s messy scrawl. If Kenny hadn’t exchanged dozens of notes with Butters during class, he would have easily mistaken Butters’ handwriting for a girl’s. _Gosh, Kenny, How’d you manage that?_

When Kenny glanced up, he noticed Mrs. Lipschitz scanning the room for anyone that may be slacking off. He quickly focused his attention on the documentary again and feigned minute interest in what was being said:

“ _Viruses, once they’ve entered the body via nose, mouth, or a break in the skin, can reproduce thousands of new viruses and can quickly spread throughout the body. Once a host has done its job of effectively reproducing new viruses, the virus itself can either break the host cell open, killing the host cell in the process, or pinch out of the cell membrane, which allows the host cell to survive._ ”

This was boring the hell out of Kenny, but Mrs. Lipschitz continued to stare down the classroom:

“ _The immune system responds to this infection by increasing the body’s temperature, initiating a fever. This fever slows down the rate of viral reproduction, allowing white blood cells the chance to kill the infection. If a virus is extremely aggressive, however, the immune system won’t be effective enough to stave off the infection. The body will succumb to the virus and eventually the host will die. This brings up the question. If a virus is powerful enough, could it threaten the entire human population? In the last year, newly discovered records suggests that near the end of the 14th century, a doctor by the name of Yersinia Pestis unleashed a newly discovered virus in an effort to initiate a sort of apocalypse known now as the Black Death-_ ”

Mrs. Lipschitz finally looked away from her students and went back to whatever the hell she was doing on her phone. Kenny mentally rejoiced. He wrote up a quick response and handed it to Butters: _Through the powers of puberty. Wendy happened to be walking by when I asked. Cartman’s dick told him to finally give in to me. Remind me to personally thank it later tonight ;)_

Butters gave him a nervous glance, most likely due to the last sentence of his response, for whatever reason, but Kenny just waggled his eyebrows, which gave Butters the hint he needed to know that he was just joking. He rolled his eyes, but replied by mouthing a simple “thanks.”

Before the two could do anything else, a sudden cough drew their attention away from one another. Their gazes locked onto a raised ruler, its worn frame smacking itself harshly against the smartboard. Tweek and a few students that had nearly fallen asleep jumped at Mrs. Lipschitz’s actions.

“Stay focused, class. We only have another ten minutes to go through. I won’t hesitate to keep those who fail to pay attention to the video after class until they see this entire documentary, again,” her old, wrinkled face maintained its look of indifference in response to the unanimous groans of her students.

It shouldn’t be too surprising to find out that this was Kenny’s least favorite teacher. How she had gotten the job, he’d never know.

**++++**

The last ten minutes felt like hours for Butters. A certain torture specifically designed to raise Butters’ excitement and anxiety up to an almost unbearable level. The opportunity Kenny had managed to get for him was absolutely amazing, but it was also making Butters a ball of nerves for two reasons: his parents might say ‘no’ to the whole thing or he would somehow screw up.

He trusted that Kenny would stick by his side through thick and thin, seeing as they’d become practically inseparable over the years, brought together by a combination of rotten circumstances and bi-weekly tutoring sessions. This fact alleviated some of his intense anxiety, but he couldn't help but feel a grain of worry. Just because Kenny wouldn’t mind if he did something wrong that didn’t mean the others wouldn’t, especially Cartman. At this point, he began to knock his knuckles together underneath his desk as these internal feelings began to creep itself towards the forefront of his thoughts.

Cartman didn't like him all too much anymore. In eighth grade, Butters had decided to take a stand and make it clear that he wouldn’t blindly follow Cartman whenever he wanted him to help him out in his hair-brained schemes.

The last straw for Butters had been when Cartman had stolen a toddler, given her to Butters and told him to keep an eye on his niece until a day or two passed, only to had almost gotten killed by the kid’s crazy parents. He, too, had been convicted of a felony, and had been ultimately grounded for five months because his parents were embarrassed by all of the trouble he had caused. It wasn’t until later on, when Cartman was cussing him out for failing to keep her hidden well enough, that he found out the toddler wasn’t related to Cartman, that Cartman’s plan was to collect the reward money that was sure to come from rescuing a missing toddler that had been kidnapped from a playground.

But that was another story. To put it simply, he wizened up about how disastrous his naivety could be when Cartman decided to take advantage of it.

It was lonely at first, having no other close friends to hang out with and he was, quite frankly, afraid to go anywhere near Cartman for a couple of weeks. He had even resorted to talking to Pip here or there, but he wasn't desperate enough to become friends with him. If he did that, his chance of ever having a social life would be over.

Luckily for Butters, Kenny had approached him back in 9th grade to ask him to tutor him, and things went from there. When Kenny tried incorporating him into the official group, Kyle and Stan didn’t seem to have any objections, especially after the whole incident with Cartman still fresh in their minds. And now, four years later, as far as Butters can tell, he was pretty close friends with them all. But would that be enough? Butter’s insecurities were catching back up to him again.

Just as Butters was beginning to imagine his parents disapproval of going over to Cartman’s house, something he hadn’t done in years, he felt something nudge his elbow. Kenny was sneaking him another note. Butters gave a brief glance at Mrs. Lipschitz again, but she was too busy staring down Craig who looked ready to nod off any second now. The evil woman was dead set on ruining someone’s day.

Butters unfolded the note, his face slightly flushing with embarrassment at what was written: _I can see that you're doing it again. Stop worrying. This isn't some sort of trial._

Kenny knew his tendencies to question himself and his bothersome self-esteem issues all too well. Butters felt like his mom caught him accidentally putting a can of Campbell's tomato soup on the wrong part of the shelf. He was grateful that Kenny was trying to alleviate his worries, but even he recognized that even though Kenny may be Cartman’s right-hand man, and technically Cartman’s best friend, he can only do so much to sway Cartman’s opinion one way or another.

Butters smiled sheepishly at Kenny, refraining from messing with his hands again. Kenny seemed to return the smile, but there was a note of disbelief in it. Not wanting to risk Mrs. Lipschitz noticing that they weren’t paying absolute attention to the credits of the documentary, he turned back towards the screen.

Minutes ticked by before the sweet toll of the the bell rang. School had officially ended. Friday had finally begun.

Just when everyone began gathering their things, the door was slammed shut and Mrs. Lipschitz’s grating voice sounded, “Class, you are dismissed. Craig, Clyde, and Pip since you three failed to pay attention in class, you’ll have to stay after school and watch it until you do.”

“Oh man, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Clyde groaned and slammed his head against his open notebook, doodles littering the pages.

“Yes ma’am,” Pip responded with his typical long and outstretched smile, which held no ounce of happiness. He had been caught daydreaming.

Craig, on the other hand, remained asleep, the palm of his hand cradling his head. Mrs. Lipschitz slammed her infamous ruler on his desk, earning herself a quick flip of the bird as soon as he woke up.

Butters and Kenny left in order to catch up with the others.

“God, I thought that’d never end,” Stan began, briefly running his hand through his hair in exasperation, pulling off his hat in the process. “I can’t tell you how many times I almost passed out.”

“I don’t know what was worse, the fact that all of their historical facts were complete and utter bullshit or that the narrator sounded awfully like Stephen Hawking,” Kyle bit out.

“Speak for yourself, Kahl. Just because you didn’t like what they said about the Jews doesn’t make them wrong. I for one found the part where the Jews created smallpox in order to prepare for world domination to be particularly enlightening,” Cartman sneared. “But then again, I already suspected that.”

“Really, Cartman? It was obvious that they pulled all of their historical facts out of their asses,” Kyle seethed. “And no way in hell were any of those fucking Anti-Semitic facts true!”

“Dude, how is this any of this different from the other videos she played?” Stan nudged Kyle lightly with his elbow in order to get his attention.

“Because this is the worst video she’s played yet. Last week it was a documentary about Darwin’s Theory of Evolution, and it was clearly racist. The week before that we played one about the consequences of radiation poisoning and it was trying to convince people that an all out nuclear war wouldn’t be such a bad fucking idea. But this week, they were trying to justify Hitler's actions, over what? Some naturally occurring viruses!”

“I-if it’s any consolation, Kyle, I don’t think anyone was really payin' attention to it anyways,” Butters said, finally able to catch up with the group with Kenny at his side who was merely listening with amusement gleaming in his eyes. Kyle gave Butters a small smile, but it was gone a moment later.

“So, Kahl, if you're so convinced that they're wrong, prove it Jew-boy."

"Just open any history textbook, you'll find all of the evidence you need," Kyle raised his arms in frustration.

"And we watched a documentary about viruses, Kahl. Who's to say that that one's not correct?"

"Goddammit, Cartman, the fact of the matter is that their science may be fine--this is a biology documentary afterall-- but their history isn’t!"

Kenny and Stan could see that Cartman had a retort on the tip of his tongue and knew that they'd never get to leave if that were the case. Stan wrapped his arm around Kyle’s shoulders, interrupting the two’s argument in its footsteps, “We should probably get going."

"We still have go to Butters' house," Kenny added.

Kyle and Stan looked at them curiously before Kenny grinned, motioning for Butters to speak up, "I-I got Cartman's blessin'."

They broke out into a smile and Stan clapped him on the back, "Sweet, dude."

"What'd you have to do to get that?"

"What do you mean 'what'd he have to do’? Maybe I'm just a good guy, Kahl. Have you ever thought about that?"

They all looked at Cartman with raised brows, clearly unconvinced. Butters just looked away from him with a guilty expression on his face, trying to hide the fact that he agreed with the others.

"'Ey! Screw you guys!"

Kenny snickered as he approached his locker, he pointed a finger conspicuously towards Token and Wendy. Token had his arm around her waist as she and him were talking to a slightly uncomfortable Tweek, probably because his other half wasn't by his side. "If you want your reason, there it is."

"Wendy?" Stan's brows furrowed in confusion.

"She passed by him when I asked."

Comprehension dawned on Stan and Kyle's faces.

This didn't bode well with Cartman, whose face twisted into one of repressed anger and, what could possibly be, embarrassment, "Seriousleh guys? You're going to believe what Kinny says?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Stan raised a brow at him, his backpack and overnight bag in hand. Kenny’s muffled laughter was heard briefly before he tried to cover it up with a cough.

Cartman glowered, "It's not too late to retract Butters' invitation."

Butters' eyes widened at this. He knocked his knuckles nervously and asked him with a tinge of fear in his voice, "G-gosh Cartman, you're really gonna kick me out?"

"Unless he wants Wendy to know about this, he's not," Kenny said, his whole body language free of worry.

“I’m not going to forget this anytime soon, Kinny,” Cartman warned him.

Kenny patted his cheek affectionately, “And I’m sure you won’t, buddy.” His hand was smacked harshly from his face.

Stan and Kyle didn’t seem perturbed by the exchange between the two; whereas, Butters looked increasingly uncomfortable as time wore on. Cartman’s threat hung over his head. This was what he was fearful of: rejection. If that were to occur, Butters wouldn’t be devastated, perse--he’s been well-acquainted with it long enough for him to not feel too depressed if it were to happen again-- if anything, Butters would just feel immense disappointment.

“Everyone set?” Kyle asked as soon as he managed to carry all of his things in such a way that it wouldn’t upset his balance. He looked rather odd carrying a backpack, sleeping bag, a suitcase, and a messenger bag, all of which didn’t seem to hinder him despite his shorter stature.

Butters then momentarily wondered how Kyle was even able to fit everything in his locker in the first place.

Almost everybody nodded in response, Cartman, on the other hand, just started walking towards the exit which led to South Park High’s student parking lot. The others soon followed his leave. As they were attempting to catch up with the long strides of Cartman, Stan had managed to pry Kyle’s sleeping bag from him before the redhead could object. After taking the few seconds to adjust his bags, Stan intertwined their fingers together.

Butters spotted Cartman’s ride. It was hard to miss the Ford truck with its yellow exterior, massive size, and the fact that it was purposely parked in two parking spaces near the front of the lot.

Everyone but Butters knew exactly where to sit, seeing as Butters typically rode the bus. Cartman took his place in the driver’s seat with Kenny calling shotgun after haphazardly tossing his small, extra bag into the back of the truck. Stan and Kyle dropped their things in the back, as well, but with more grace than Kenny’s complete disregard for the state of his things. Butters stood awkwardly to the side as this went on, careful to not get in the way of their everyday routine.

"'Ey, Butters, get your ass in gear, I don't have all day!" Cartman yelled, sticking his head out of the vehicle.

Butters attention was grabbed immediately then. He rushed towards the back to stick his backpack in the truck and closed its top cover, giving Cartman a quick, " S-sorry Cartman!"

He then joined Kyle and Stan in the back, claiming the window seat behind Cartman; whereas, Kyle scooted closer to Stan in order to give Butters more room to buckle up before resuming his prior space in the middle of the two.

The first minute or so was relatively silent as Cartman concentrated on getting the hell out of dodge, aiming to escape the congested student parking lot before it reached its peak. Butters, hating the silence, tried to start up a conversation: "So, how’re ya fellas doi-"

"Shut the fuck up, Butters."

But, well, then that happened.

**++++**

With the truck clear of the parking lot, the silence was finally allowed to be broken: "Has Kinny explained any of the rules to you yet, Butters?" Cartman's searing gaze locked onto Butters’ from the rearview mirror of the truck, an eyebrow raised expectantly.

"N-no, not that I know of. I didn't even know you fellas had any rules for these things," Butters responded with a small smile. "But I'm sure I can pick 'em up quickly. I might not be the best at followin' the rules at home cuz there's a lot of 'em and all, but, boy howdy, I'll try my best!" At this point his smile broadened visibly and he raised his chin with some confidence.

Cartman rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, already regretting giving into Kenny’s request. He’d just have to keep reminding himself that his decision served a purpose. It acted as a stepping stone to get him what he desired, and Cartman always made sure he got what he wanted. "Just say 'no' next time."

"Gee, Cartman I-"

He cut him off to stop the long-winded apology Cartman just knew was trying to force its way out of him. He frankly didn't give a damn whether or not Butters felt sorry for something that did not require a goddamn apology. "Since Kinny clearly proved his incompetence again, and I was clearly expecting too much from him when money's not on the table--"

"Go fuck yourself, Cartman."

"I'll explain them to you now. Pay absolute attention Butters, I'm not going to repeat myself again.

" Rule number one: I get the final word. I choose the movie, I choose the food, I--goddammit Butters, are you even fucking listening to me?" Cartman snapped, daring to turn his head away from the road to give Butters a look of complete and utter annoyance. This kid was unbelievable. How in the hell did Kenny feel any sort of attraction towards him?

“Keep your eyes on the road, fat ass, I don’t want to end up getting whiplash if you fuck up,” Kyle berated him, making a shooing-motion with his hands in order to direct his attention to where it's supposed to be.

“I never fuck up when I drive,” nevertheless, he decided on his own that it was best that he turned around. Pfft, like he'd ever follow the Jew's instructions.  
He swore underneath his breath a second later when he approached a red light. “Well because this light turned out to be an asshole, I have a few extra minutes to tell you some of the rules before we get to your house. What number was I on, again?”

“Still one,” Stan said off-handedly, looking outside his window with one palm cradling his chin.

“Okay, actually pay attention this time, Butters, or I won’t hesitate to kick you out of my truck right now.”

"S-sorry, Cartman. It won’t happen, again,” Butters stuttered, taking Cartman’s threat to heart. Cartman found an ounce of satisfaction in this.

“It better be,” he cleared his throat before beginning again. “The first rule is probably the most important rule: no matter what we do, I get the final say. For example, I get to choose what movies we watch. You may wonder why I have that much authoriteh, so let me explain. I own the best stereo system and flat screen TV out of all of us, which means I’m always the one hosting--”

“Not always, sometimes we head over to Kyle’s house, but that’s only when Cartman’s mom has company over. You know, because we all know they’ll eventually lounge around, have a few drinks, maybe feed her pussy while they’re at it,” Kenny said, twirling his finger in the air, his mischievous smile visible now that he’d shed his hood and scarf.  
Butters looked at Kenny in confusion, “But why does Ms. Cartman need help feeding her cat?”

“Kinny,” warned Cartman, a cold, calculating stare directed itself towards Kenny. He was starting to take things too far.

His friend knew perfectly well that he was getting on his nerves today. For one, Kenny was bringing his mother into the conversation and with this subtext attached, and Kenny knew that he was treading dangerous territory because of it. Secondly, it appeared that Kenny had the upperhand on Cartman. Kenny felt as if he were impervious to Cartman and his wrath. The look he was sending ensured that he’d sent the message across: Kenny shouldn’t push his luck. Cartman would think up of a way to get back at him for putting him in such a vulnerable position, and, right now, he was playing around with the idea of ‘accidentally’ hitting Kenny with his truck. The more damage it caused to him, the more satisfied Cartman would be.

Kenny raised his hands in mock surrender, giving Cartman the signal to continue with the group’s agreed upon list of rules, after he started driving again, that is, “Another very important rule is that no one is allowed to invite anyone else without both my and the group’s permission.”

“S-sorry if I’m interruptin’ or anythin’, Cartman, but I thought no one was allowed to come at all. I heard from Wendy that you fellas didn’t even let her join even though she yelled at ya ‘bout it. Does that mean I’m the first one?” Butters asked.

The others nodded simultaneously. Butters looked down at his hands, rubbing his knuckles together nervously, his skin growing red in irritation from the frequent abuse, “Gee fellas, I don’t know what ta say.”

“Don’t let it get to your head. We can kick you out any time we want,” Cartman snorted contemptuously.  
“Actually, Cartman, rule six states that the only way that a group member can be kicked out is if they break any of the rules we’ve already established. You were the one who made it up after we kicked you out, because you tried setting Kenny’s sleeping bag on fire to get back at us for not wanting to watch ‘Passion of the Christ’,” Kyle intercepted, not wanting Cartman to concern Butters with blatant lies.

"Doesn't mean we can't change it again."

“We tried to do that before, dude, but then you added rule 7 to make sure rule 6 always stays in effect: 'under no circumstances can rule 6 or 7 be changed'," Stan said with a shrug of his shoulders. "We're not the one who made the rules, fat ass, you did."

Seeing as Cartman couldn't think of a loophole to appease his want for complete control of the situation, at the moment, that is, he begrudgingly accepted his past-self's actions. Actions that had completely disregarded a potential scenario like this. Without another word on his part, he drowned out the idle chatter of his friends with his own perpetuating thoughts as he turned into the driveway of Butters' home.

It was now Butters' parents' turn to determine the fate of their only son, and with whatever fate they chose, Cartman was prepared to reap the benefits.

**++++**  


  
The infamous list the girls had made back in fourth grade wasn’t the first of its kind, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. By senior year, they had made well over a hundred lists covering a variety of subjects ranging from something innocent to something cruelly judgemental. Unlike when their most notable list had reached the eyes and ears of the boy community, the girls filtered their lists and kept the most damning tucked away in a location none of the male population would ever consider finding it in--or at least that's what the girls' claimed.

One list in particular came to the forefront of Kyle’s mind as he stared out the window. It was one that he, Stan, and Token had helped create after the girls' insistence: the top 10 worst parents of South Park. Unbeknownst to Butters, or anyone else but a select few, the Stotch’s had made the top of that list. And, by now, Kyle's main group of friends knew just how horrible they treated their one and only son. They've heard plenty of stories from Kenny. As a result, Kyle had concluded long ago that they were scum.

And that is all Kyle could think of when he stood in front of the Stotch residence.

“Let me go in first,” Butters began, climbing carefully out of Cartman’s truck. “I don’t want ‘em thinkin’ I’m invitin’ people over without t-their permission.”

“Do you mind if we stick around on the front steps until then?” Stan absently asked, taking a long look at the house’s exterior.

Kyle followed his line of vision, a look of disgust flashing across his face. Gaudy lawn ornaments suffocated the neatly trimmed green expanse: gnomes, flamingos, fake mushrooms, fake squirrels, wind chimes, and a bright, plastic bird fountain were placed sporadically throughout the yard. It resembled more of a garden center than a home.

“Nah, I don’t mind. Just wait until my cue ta go inside,” Butters gave a small smile to the pair before glancing at Kenny who was approaching Cartman. “Isn’t Cartman gonna come?”

“Cartman wants to stay in the truck,” Kenny said, wrapping his scarf around his mouth again. He pulled his hood over his head as he added, “If push comes to shove, though, we can use him to get your parents to let you come over. Stan and Kyle should be enough, though.”

“Because we don’t have a criminal record that rivals Charles Manson’s?” Kyle pushed his glasses up his nose with a smirk on his lips.

“Exactly,” Kenny said, outstretching his arms. He then motioned for Stan and Kyle to gravitate closer to him, and he continued in a much quieter voice, “But make sure to, you know, tone it down a little. You know how his parents can be.”

Oh, did Kyle know all too well what Kenny meant. Gossip spread fast in this small, redneck town and the Stotch's were of no exception. It was rumored that Mr. and Mrs. Stotch's relationship was strained by Mr. Stotch's curiosity towards those of the same sex, that and he cheated on his wife due to this unfamiliar lust more than once years back. As a result, they were extremely homophobic. This fact didn't bode well for Butters, because everyone in the school, including Kyle, believed that he was locked deep inside the closet with his parents being the keepers of the key. If Butters so much as demonstrated anything that resembled less than perfect, including his sexuality, then he was immediately grounded.

This was just another reason why they were number one on the list.

He and Stan exchanged a look. Kyle huffed in frustration for matters beyond simply keeping out of arm's reach of his boyfriend’s; whereas, Stan merely shrugged, understanding the situation but not looking happy about it, and took a couple of steps away from Kyle in order to remove all possibility for Mr. and Mrs. Stotch to mistake their relationship for what it really was. The Stotch’s themselves had their suspicions already, but a confirmation of it would cause them to disallow Butters association with them for the years to come. That was something they wanted to avoid at all costs.

"It's not a problem. Anything else we need to do to help you out, Butters?" Stan asked, shoving his hands into his jean pockets.

"Nothing I can think of, no."

"Sounds good then, lead the way," Stan pulled one of his hands out of his pocket in order to sweep it towards the front steps.

Butters nodded, walking towards his front door. He took a deep breath and changed his posture, attempting to harness as much courage as he was able to.

It was now or never.

He opened the door to his house and the voices of his parents easily traveled to the group: "-don't know what's gotten into them, Linda. Carl, David, and Cindy have been sick for the last few days and a couple hours after they got back, none of them would respond to anything anyone said. In fact, when I tried to get Carl's attention, he bit me. Can you believe that?"

"That's certainly strange. Do you think he might've just been having a bad day?"

"I don't know, Linda. I don't know. All I do know is that my boss is going to hear about this. Carl's lucky it isn't deep enough that I need stitches," the sound of footsteps were quickly approaching the front door. "Is that you, Butters? What have I told you about keeping the door open?"

"S-sorry, dad. We just got here, s-so it wasn't open for t-too long," he gave the man a strained smile before he glanced at his friends behind him for a moment. "Stan, Kyle, and Kenny are here. C-can they come in for a bit?"

Mr. Stotch appeared at the entrance of the doorway just then with a large smile plastered on his face, "Of course they can. Be sure to take your shoes off before you come in. We don't want Linda to have a fit." He chuckled lowly. It was as fake as his smile.

The group entered the room, slipping off their pair of shoes. Kenny tossed his grungy pair of converse to the side, Butters carefully placed his new sneakers in one of the corners by the front entrance, Kyle neatly aligned his loafers against the wall, and Stan piled his pair of tennis shoes in the middle of the front entrance. Kyle gave Kenny and Stan a disapproving look, but said nothing of it.

Butters stood rather awkwardly to the side of the group, rapping his knuckles together in his usual nervous manner, "Um, d-dad, I have a question ta ask ya, if it's okay, that is."

"Of course, son. Thank you for asking."

"I-is it alright if I stay over at K-Kyle's house tonight? T-their parents are gonna be chaperonin' and all, and I promise to keep out of trouble. I finished my homework at school and-"

Mr. Stotch raised his hand, immediately quieting down Butters’ increasingly nervous banter. Kyle noticed the bandages wrapped tightly around the raised hand, blood seeping into the white cloth. It must have been what the coworker had bitten. Mr. Stotch smiled vacantly at his son and said, "Of course you can stay over there. Sheila and Linda are good friends, you know. Just be sure to say hello to Gerald and Sheila for us and be on your best behavior, mister, or there will be consequences." They all winced at the sound of Mr. Stotch's empty laughter.

Kyle wasn't surprised by Butters' decision to lie about where he was exactly going. Like Mr. Stotch said, his mom and Butters' mom were good friends. If they were to allow him to stay over at anyone's home, it was Kyle's, and so Kyle made the effort to not reveal the truth of the situation for his sake.

Butters immediately brightened up by that answer, clearly surprised by this decision, "Gee willikers. Thanks, dad!"

"Ha ha, you're welcome, son. It’ll be nice to have a night alone with your mother. God knows we need it, " he ruffled Butters' hair, oblivious to Butters' visible flinch at the contact. Mr. Stotch turned away from the two and called out, "Linda, Butters brought some of his friends over."

"Aw, that's wonderful, dear," Linda's voice called from the kitchen. "I'm almost done with the next batch of cookies. There should be just enough here for them to snack on at their sleepover."

An audible "Whoop!" sounded from Kenny, both arms raised in joy.

Kyle had to admit, as much as he couldn't stand the woman, she did bake a mean batch of cookies.

Kenny grabbed one of Butters' hands and began to pull him towards the stairs, "Come on, Butters, we've better get packing before the smell of fresh cookies draws out the fat tub of lard from his cave." He half-hazardly pulled him up the stairs. Mr. Stotch's look of disapproval followed the two until they were out of sight. Once their reverberating steps were the only reminder of their presence, Mr. Stotch turned his attention back to Stan and Kyle who made no move to follow the two.

"So, how are you boys doing this fine evening? Keeping out of trouble, I hope," Mr. Stotch gestured for the two to sit down.

Stan gave the man a strained smile before responding, taking a seat on the left hand side of the couch all the while, "Pretty good. Nothing much's going on, really. Just the usual.” As an afterthought he added, “And yeah, we’ve been keeping out of trouble.” He failed to tell Mr. Stotch that they had all participated in Charity or Plunge just last week, which was probably a good idea considering that it looked like the incident had slipped the man’s mind.

Kyle and the others had jumped off of a bridge last Friday and landed in a river with their life jackets on. Someone had seen them and misinterpreted what they were doing as some sort of suicide pact and sought for their parents in order to tell them the bad news. Kyle and the others walked in on their own funeral a few hours later, which caused a massive panic throughout the crowd, seeing as they were all proclaimed dead. But that was another story.

"I wish I could say the same for Butters. He's a troublemaker, that boy. He just doesn't know how stay away from it. God knows what the neighbors think. You boys are going to keep a close eye on him and make sure he doesn’t make our family look bad, right?"

Sitting on the right side of the couch, ensuring he and Stan weren't directly beside one another, Kyle tried to conceal the rising irritation he felt towards the man. Mr. Stotch had no right to talk like that when he's done so much worse than anything Butters' had ever done. His fists curled subconsciously. Mr. Stotch remained oblivious of his ill feelings towards him, but Stan recognized the signs.

Stan tried to placate him with a warning look, knowing full well how temperamental Kyle could get. Kyle glanced at him before turning his attention back towards the man, "Of course."

"It's good to know that he'll be in good hands. It'll be good for him to be around kids his age with some sensibility in them," Mr. Stotch stared at the two boys expectantly.  
"Er, yeah," Stan didn't know what else to say. Both of them really didn't want to agree with anything Mr. Stotch was saying.

Kyle shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Mr. Stotch continued to smile at them with the same lifelessness as before.

"I've finished another batch of cookies," Mrs. Stotch walked in with a massive plate held in her arms. Her left eye twitched slightly when she spotted the three, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She placed the fine china in front of them and some of the two dozen cookies fell from their fragile perch on the plate and onto the carpet. Her eye twitched with greater intensity at the sight.

Stan helped himself to a cookie, but Kyle refrained from following his example. With his insulin shot and monitor in his backpack inside the back of Cartman's truck, he didn't want to take the risk. The Stotch's continued to stare at him when he made no move to take one. He mentally sighed and grabbed a freshly made cookie, but did nothing further.

This apparently was enough for Mrs. Stotch, because she began walking back towards the kitchen promptly after he accomplished this action, "That other batch should be done in a minute or so. So, I apologize in advance for leaving so suddenly."

Kyle was handing Stan the baked good wordlessly when she said this, prompting him to look up and exchange the same surprised and confused expression. Just how many cookies was Butters' mom making?

Kenny and Butters' needed to hurry their asses up, because this was getting to be a bit too much for them to take.

**++++**

It always amazed Kenny just how organized Butters' room was. Much like his father, Butters had many collections of miscellaneous things that were grouped together in distinctive patterns, some groupings were even accompanied by small labels. But, unlike Mr. Stotch, these collections were not boring.

On a bulletin board that was hanging just above his desk were dozens of newspaper headlines that summarized every shit storm South Park had ever experienced. Next to his bed was his bookshelf. Amongst the many books that resided on it lied multiple photo albums filled with antique photographs of times long forgotten. Each photo was rather peculiar in its own way, whether it was the subject matter itself or the early days of photo manipulation. Butters liked to write short stories based off of these photos in his spare time, which he kept beside the photo albums. Kenny remembered the nights he stayed over when his mother was having a particularly bad day and his sister was safely at Craig's. Butters read these stories to him into the late of the night when both of them were either tired of messing around on the computer or just wanted to escape from their own reality. In a variety of jars placed neatly beside his bookshelf were small notes, each with a good memory Butters had experienced that day.

Kenny wondered if he was ever mentioned in any of those notes.

"I think we got everythin' I need for the sleepover, " Butters interrupted Kenny's admiration of the room, causing the other blond to turn his attention back to the task they had at hand.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," Butters face scrunched up, deep in thought, "Um, at least, at least I think I am.

" Here, let me look," Kenny gently took the list that they recently made from Butters' hands, accidentally brushing his fingers against his as he did so. He raised a brow in curiosity at Butters' reaction. There was a light blush adorning his cheeks.

Well, that was certainly interesting. He'd definitely had to investigate _that_ later.

At the moment, however, they were too busy for him to figure out what was going on in Butters’ head.

Kenny began to scan the contents of the list, but he hadn't gone very far before he heard the unmistakable sound of Butters rubbing his knuckles together.

_Not again._

He set aside the list temporarily in preference of lightly gripping Butters' wrists in order to stop the boy from further irritating the skin of his knuckles from the constant abuse. Butters' looked at him sheepishly when he saw Kenny's stern gaze, "You have nothing to worry about, Butters. Like I said, this isn't some sort of trial."

"B-but, what if I break one of the rules? I'm no good at followin' rules. I never have been. Cartman doesn't like me much. Maybe he’ll be able ta think of a loophole that can kick me out even if I don't break a rule," Butters explained to Kenny with a nervous glint in his eyes.

Kenny gave him a small smile, releasing his grip on Butters' wrists in order to intertwine their fingers which was not unusual as he sought contact like this with everyone he was close to, "Trust me, you've got Stan, Kyle, and me backing you up. We never let Cartman have his way, and, when we do, it's only because we know it'll bite him in the ass by the end of it."

"Pinkie swear?" Butters slipped one of his hands out from Kenny's grip to present him his pinkie finger.

Kenny chuckled at the childish gesture, but, nevertheless, linked his pinkie with Butters', "Pinkie swear." Butters gave him a small smile. Kenny couldn't tell if it was just his imagination or not, but he could have sworn that Butters hesitated when he released their joined hands. That made a catlike grin overtake his expression, but thoughts of the purity ring incident instantly took it away.

Before Butters could detect the sudden change in his mood, Kenny landed unceremoniously in Butters' desk chair, its hinges groaning under the sudden stress of the added weight. With his hood flipped over his eyes, he held out the previously discarded list to Butters and said, "We've almost packed everything you need."

"Almost? But I thought we got everythin' on the list. What'd we forget?" Butters took hold of the list, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he scrutinized every word.

"We did get everything on the list, but one key detail. One that I didn't add to the list yet. Any guesses?" Kenny lifted up a corner of his hood so that one of his eyes was peeking out from underneath the orange cloth.

Butters looked around the room with big blue eyes and adopted a thoughtful expression. After a moment or two of contemplation, he shook his head, "Shucks, Kenny, I got nuthin'." Here he held up a hand to count his fingers, "See, we already got all of the things I need ta get ready in the mornin', even a few barrettes just in case my hair doesn't want to cooperate tomorrow like it sometimes does, and we packed a few extra blankets alongside my sleeping bag. Gosh, I even brought my snuggie while we were at it, yanno, the light blue one with the penguins all over it. What could possibly be left that I need?"

A small smile adorned Kenny's face, his scarf that he had yet to take off obscured much of the expression and the hood prevented Butters from seeing most of it, but it was there. Kenny found it amusing whenever Butters would unnecessarily go on and on about something. Initially it was rather obnoxious, but, like most habits of his closest friend, he soon thought of it as endearing.

With Butters giving up on the challenge, though not without some effort being applied, Kenny sat up from his stooped position and flipped his hood off of his head. He held up a finger, "One word, Butters: tribute."

Said blond looked at him in confusion, cocking his head slightly with curiosity, "T-tribute?"

He nodded in confirmation, "Yes, Butters, Tribute. See, once upon a long ass time ago, Cartman got really pissed off at all of us for 'mooching' off of him whenever he hosted our Friday nights. In order to prevent him from doing something stupid, like taking us to court to win ownership of all of our stuff or something like that, Stan suggested that we make rule 3: everyone must bring something of value."

"V-value? Like money or jewelry?”

He shook his head, “Not quite. More like something that everyone can appreciate. For example, I usually bring a new videogame I manage to save up for or some of my porn stash." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

Butters didn't bat an eye at the last half of the statement by now used to these types of comments coming from him, "If you do bring something, does Cartman get to keep it?"

Kenny snorted, "Like we'd ever let that fat ass take our shit. Nah, usually if he gets first dibs it's enough to satisfy him."

"Do ya think Cartman will count my mom's cookies as a tribute? She wanted me ta bring some anyways," Butters gave Kenny a small smile as he folded up his list of supplies and put the note in his Chococat toiletry bag.

Kenny stood up from his perch and languidly walked towards his bed in order to pick up Butters' sleeping bag and pillow, putting them under the crook of each of his arms. "It's Cartman we're talking about. It doesn't matter that he isn't as fat as he was when he was a kid, he's still a fat ass at heart." He jerked his head towards the door, "Shall we, Butterscotch?"

Butters nodded and grabbed his toiletry and messenger bag. His hands seemed to be itching to knock against one another, but Butters looked like he was doing all he could to refrain from following through with this action, "I-I'm all set. I've always wondered what you fellas were up to on Friday nights. It's strange ta think that I'll get ta experience it first hand and..."

They took their time walking down the stairs as Butters kept rambling on and on about his excitement for tonight, and Kenny tried his best to stay attentive, but his mind would sometimes wander.

As soon as Kyle and Stan noticed Butters and Kenny, they hastily excused themselves and walked over to the two. Stan whispered, "Thank God you two came, Mr. Stotch was going to show us the Stotch family portraits--er, no offense Butters."

"Don't worry, Stan, none taken. I never liked 'em much either, to be honest," Butters smile looked rather forced, which Kenny thought understandable.  
Every year, the Stotch family would take a cheesy family portrait. Butters was taught that it was tradition; whereas, Kenny thought it was just because the Stotch's wanted to keep up the appearance that they were a happy family. Every time the three tried to get a picture taken, however, there was the tendency that something horribly went wrong for one or all of them. The worst incident involved a clown, a pedophile, and a puppet, but that was another story.  
  
 **HONK!**

The sudden noise caught the whole group's attention as the irritating sound of Cartman continuously pounding on the truck's horn reverberated throughout the room.  
Stan pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and Kenny heard Kyle grumble something along the lines of "you gotta be kidding me." Butters looked at his father with worry as it soon became apparent that Cartman's actions weren't ceasing. Kenny figured it probably wouldn't until they all hauled ass and got into his truck.

Kenny was quick to grab Stan and Kyle's attention, seeing as he was never good with getting on an adult's good side, for their help. Stan removed his hand from its perch and turned towards Mr. Stotch with an apologetic smile on his face, "Sorry about the noise, Mr. Stotch. Cartman's just getting impatient."

"He can't help acting like this," Kyle added. "He's mentally challenged."

Mr. Stotch's piercing stare unnerved the four, but his stern expression soon transitioned into a feigned smile, "It's all right boys, I completely understand. It's good of you to befriend people like him, but I'd like it if you would get him to quiet down. Linda's been under a lot of stress lately and I don't think this is helping." Stan and Kyle took it as their cue to roll up their sleeves and deal with Cartman.

He then directed his sole attention on Butters, "Lucky for you, your mother and I are looking forward to our night together without having to worry about you and your mischief, so I'll let this slide for once." He picked the plastic tub full of chocolate chip cookies off of the table and walked towards the the two, handing them to Butters. "Now go before I change my mind."

"Y-yes, s-sir."

Kenny gave the man a cold look as they passed by, but his hoodie and scarf hid the expression.

When Butters was out of his father's view, he finally dared to express his happiness over the final results of their visit to the Stotch household. This was because he no longer ran the risk of being grounded for 'making a funny face.'

Wordlessly, they collected their shoes once they reached the front door and slipped them on, but not bothering to tie the laces.

"B-bye, dad!" Butters waved to him timidly.

"Bye, son. Remember, if you do anything wrong, I'll be the first to find out," his smile sent shivers down Kenny's spine.

Despite the animosity he felt towards Mr. Stotch, he was sure to give a muffled goodbye.

Once clearing the porch, Kenny was perfectly prepared to hear Cartman's bitching. Butters', on the otherhand, almost dropped his things when Cartman suddenly asked irritably out the window, "What the fuck took you so long? I've been waiting here for at least twenty minutes!"

Kenny smiled wickedly at that. The gears in his brain quickly turned as he put the sleeping bag and pillow into the back of the truck. Once he finished, he walked up to the window of the passenger seat, which was halfway open, and rested his elbows on it, "Butters and I were a little busy in the bedroom." He gave Cartman a wink, "I'd say sorry, but you all know that I don't like to lie." With the flutter of his eyes, he finally added, "Care for the juicy details of our adventures as anal explorers?"

Cartman leaned back against his seat as he folded his arms with a brow raised, clearly unimpressed with his response.

"Well, I wouldn't really count what we did as explorin', Kenny," Butters added innocently as he climbed into the backseat of the truck.

Kenny took this as his cue to reclaim his rightful place at shotgun with his smirk widening. He glanced at the backseat of the truck noticing Butters' obliviousness to his implications and his friends' amusement. This was bound to get Cartman going.

"Please tell me you aren't being serious right now," Cartman shifted his body in such a way so that he looked at said boy properly, which was a difficult feat what with his heavy build.

"What?"

"You can't really be that fucking clueless."

"Come on Butters, tell them how I traversed into uncharted territory. A base where no man or woman has ever gone before," Kenny was having a difficult time keeping composure and it seemed the same could be said for Stan and Kyle.

Sometimes Butters' innocence was absolutely adorable. This was middle school humor, for God's sake, not some of the advanced shit he could duel out when given the right opportunity. Yet, Butters' couldn't put the pieces together for what he was implying.

"But Kenny, you go inta my room all of the time. My mom and dad also can come in and out of it whenever they want to, too. In fact, even Cartman, Bebe, and Wendy have gone in there more than once. And more people'd be allowed ta come if they didn't say 'no' ta my invite and--"

Sudden laughter drowned out the rest of what Butters was going to say. Kenny, Stan, and Kyle weren't able to hold in their amusement any longer, especially when Cartman looked, understandably, angrier and angrier as his disbelief over Butters' naivety grew after every word his peer said.

Said peer stared helplessly at the others, confusion written all over his face, "I-I don't understand why people visitin' me is so funny. Is it cuz my parents like to check up on me or interrupt what we're doin' or occasionally join in--"

"Butters."

"Y-yeah, C-Cartman?"

"Shut your damn mouth."

**+++**

On the outskirts of South Park, a silent figure surveyed the daily activities of the townsfolk. His cold gaze observed the chaos brewing amongst its masses, all of which were oblivious to the danger that was drawing near.

All of them were like a flock of sheep being herded into a slaughterhouse: ignorant of their upcoming demise.

It wouldn't be long now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to warn you that the the lead up to the Zombie Apocalypse will be similar to the manga series "I am a Hero", meaning it'll be a slow but necessary lead up to it, but once shit hits the fan, chaos quickly ensues. 
> 
> Also, after Chapter 5, the chapters should become much shorter, which will allow for quicker updates. I just have lot of events I need to get through before I can narrow down what's in each chapter.
> 
> (Spoiler: the Expected Due Date of the apocalypse will be by the end of Chapter 3)


	2. Their Last Friday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nearing the end of Cartman and his group of friend's senior year, and all they want to do is graduate without being slowed down by any insane incidents South Park is prone to experience. When a viral infection begins to spread in South Park and, shortly, the world, any hope of graduating is shot down forever as society is just about destroyed. 
> 
> Anyone overtaken by the virus experiences a deterioration of the mind and body at an alarming rate. To make matters worse, it forces its host to attack, murder, and cannibalize on the living: human or animal.
> 
> All they can do now is flee from South Park indefinitely and survive. Whatever you do, keep calm and don't drink the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of the feedback and comments I've gotten! I was really happy to see that and it really motivated me to get on my ass and write. I'm going to try and see if I can't post a chapter once a month (at least until I get to the shorter and more reasonably sized chapters) even with college coming up.
> 
> This chapter was a struggle at certain parts due to writer's block, but I'm really happy with the results. You'll have to let me know what you think and don't be afraid to point out something you're unhappy with. Like I said before, I want to make this fic an enjoyable experience for both you and I. ;)
> 
> On another note, I've planned out some illustrations I'm going to draw for the story and I'm beginning to draw all of the character designs for the main characters, as well.  
> They can be found on my new art tumblr page here: [Binary-Echo](http://binary-echo.tumblr.com/tagged/ddw)  
> The actual illustrations for the chapters will be added to the actual story later (of course the size will be adjusted so it's not as massive like the pics on my tumblr).

Stan can still remember the days when he and Wendy had been dating on and off back in elementary school. It had always started out wonderful. They would fall for one another during the intervals they were broken up and once they got together again, the first few weeks were great. But, after while, their relationship always went south. Jealousy and lack of trust interfered. Most of the time, Stan thought she was either cheating on him or losing interest in him while she would get jealous of how much time he spent with his super best friend, Kyle. Although he never admitted it to her, he knew she had figured out that Kyle’s needs always went before hers.

You have those two factors coupled with the fact that he’d been diagnosed with aspergers and later depression, it was obvious that their relationship was bound to fail in the end. So before their greatest falling out could inevitably destroy anything they once shared, they mutually agreed to break up once and for all. Although they no longer held feelings for one another, and Kyle later on took her place while Token replaced Stan, no hard feelings were given. Against all odds, they somehow remained relatively close friends.

Before all of this played out, however, halfway through fourth grade, when he and Wendy were starting to get on one another’s nerves again, Wendy had continually pestered him to try and get the others to let her join in on their Friday nights. Of course, he only asked the group because of her nagging. He really didn’t care whether or not she went at that point so long as she stopped bugging him about it.

Predictably, whenever Stan asked Cartman, he made a show of just laughing in his face. When Wendy approached Cartman, he proceeded to laugh in her face, too. Of course, this made her pissed, but what did she expect: instant acceptance? This was Cartman she was dealing with. Only a fool would think it’d be that easy, and Wendy’s not a fool. She was just stubborn.

This repeated for almost a year, and every single person in the group, this included Kyle and Kenny, too, had declined her request. Kenny, on the other hand, had only been attempting to get the group, or more specifically Cartman, for about a month now, if not more, to give Butters an invitation. Somehow, he had miraculously gotten fatass, of all people, to say yes.

Stan shouldn’t be too surprised, really. From what Kenny hinted at, he had taken advantage of the situation to get his desired answer, and, coupled with the fact that Kenny was still technically Cartman’s best friend, if anyone could get him to relent, it would be him. Kenny was the only one out of the group that usually went along with Cartman and his antics for the most part nowadays. Kyle and Stan tried their best not to get involved unless it was absolutely necessary and Butters was tossed out of Cartman’s line of fire a long time ago.

Stan wasn't mad or anything. He just hoped Kenny didn’t push his luck too much. Kenny was known to be a bit too cocky for his own good. Sometimes Stan wondered how he hadn’t died an early death yet after some of the shit he’s tried to pull.

As for Butters, he didn’t have any doubt that the kid would fit in with their Friday nights. As far as he could tell, he’d been apart of the gang not long after Kenny’s dad died. Although he wasn’t very close to Stan, he didn’t dislike his company, which is saying a lot nowadays. Stan might not be as negative as he was as a kid, but he was still more cynical and less tolerant of things than most.

He was jarred out of his thoughts when Kyle bumped shoulders against his just as Cartman drove his truck onto Cartman’s driveway, which really wasn’t that long of a ride if he thought about it. Both Cartman and Butters lived on the same street.

Without missing a beat, both he, Kyle, and Kenny left the vehicle in order to retrieve their luggage; whereas, Cartman entered his home without a second glance at all of them. He was probably too impatient to wait up for them. Whatever. It didn’t matter whether he was there or not when the remaining group got their shit together.

A big grin lit up Stan’s features as he fell into step with Kyle towards where their luggage was at.

“Any guesses on what the movie will be this time?” Kyle asked as they pried open the back of the truck and began grabbing their stuff.

“I have no clue, but whatever it is, I hope it isn’t shit,” Stan responded once he had everything in tow. Without a second thought, he added, “But with fatass, you never know.”

With everything in hand, they started making their way towards the front door. Stan momentarily glanced back towards the other two, noticing that they weren’t right behind them. Butters was still in the car, just watching them with a look of nervous disbelief on his face while Kenny began to shed his hoodie and scarf, revealing his mischievous smile. Kyle called out to the two, “Don’t make us wait too long.”

“Yes, mom,” Kenny laughed before pulling something out of his pocket. He waved it frantically in the air in order to catch Kyle’s attention as he added, “And don’t worry, we’ll use protection!”

Stan could hear a muffled, “K-Kenny! You shouldn’t say t-things like that ta Kyle and Stan!”

“It’s okay, Butters. Mom and dad don’t care,” Kenny’s crooked grin extended further once Butters fully emerged from the truck. Butters cheeks were flushed and his entire demeanor reeked of embarrassment. Stan could tell Kenny was shamelessly checking Butters out, his eyes lingering towards Butters’ crotch, which Stan really didn’t want to picture the images that were probably going through Kenny's head.

Kyle rolled his eyes at the two of them, "Just make sure you two don't make a scene, we don't want Mr. Swett to having another heart attack."

Mr. Swett was Cartman's neighbour. He usually sat out on his front porch most of the day just watching as the world passed by him. He was an old man in his late sixties who, ironically, sweated uncontrollably. He, too, was a large man whose weight and unhealthy diet caused him to suffer what he called 'the big one' once every year.

"Better sooner than later is what I always say," Kenny laughed. "Hey!"

Butters had smacked the back of Kenny's head lightly in reprimandation, "Now Kenny, t-that's no way ta talk about Mr. Swett when he's not here."

"But when he's here?"

Butters looked at him blankly, puzzled for a second before saying confidently, "It's still not a nice thing ta say, but at least it's not behind his back."

Kenny offered him his messenger bag and the Tupperware container full of his mom’s cookies while he kept Butters’ sleeping bag and pillow to bring in himself, “You’re fucking adorable, you know that?” He patted Butters cheek in an affectionate manner before walking inside. Stan and Kyle followed shortly after him. Unlike last time, Stan hadn’t been fast enough to get any of Kyle’s luggage and so he wasn’t allowed to carry anything for him. Kyle’s stubborn like that. Stan knew Kyle was fully capable of bringing it in on his own, he just liked helping him when he could.

The sight of Cartman patiently waiting on his large living room sofa with a can of Diet Double Dew in hand greeted them as soon as they walked through the door. He looked like he was trying to give off the air that he was like a king, but it came off more like an asshole with a superiority complex. But what else did Stan really expect coming from Cartman?

Apparently a lot less than his friend was capable of, because Cartman was at least considerate enough to get them some of their own cans of soda. Everyone grabbed a can from the table. Stan opened a Coca Cola, Kyle some Diet Coke, Kenny some cream soda, and Butters a Squirt. Stan took a swig before setting it back down on the table followed by everyone else but Kenny, who kept holding on to it.

“Okay guys, you know what to do,” Cartman held up his drink in a mock toast, swirling its contents just for show. “I’m not going to wait here all day for you four to get your asses in gear. Stan and Kyle, you two get the pillows, Kenny gets the blankets, and Butters gets the snacks. Butters, don't you dare choose anything healthy or else I won’t hesitate to kick your ass. ”

“Y-yes, sir!” Butters gave Cartman a mock salute. He then laid his things down beside everyone else’s luggage and was just about to head towards the kitchen before a cough from Cartman drew his attention.

“Not so fast, Butters. Before you start doing anything, there’s an admission fee you still have to pay,” Cartman leaned back against the couch, crossing his arms while still holding onto the soda can.

 _‘Great’_ , Stan thought bitterly as he, Kyle, and Kenny started going through their bags to find what they brought. Even though Stan was the one who had come up with it, it didn’t mean he liked it one bit. A sudden realization dawned on him: the group failed to tell Butters about rule number 3. This wasn’t going to end well.

“I-is this about rule number 3?” Stan raised his head, looking over towards Butter. So it looked like he was aware of it. That was a relief.

“Kenny told you, huh?” Cartman asked.

“Which is probably a good thing since you’d pull a bitch fit if he hadn’t brought anything,” Kyle muttered underneath his breath, which Cartman pointedly ignored.

“Then that means we can just get to the point,” he set down the soda can and held his hands out. “Okay fags, pay up.”

Stan sighed before pulling out a plastic bag that was shoved underneath his pajama bottoms in his backpack and halfheartedly tossed it at Cartman’s head, earning him an annoyed “ey!” in response. When Cartman recovered, he greedily opened the bag to admire its contents, “Australian licorice, huh?”

“Yep. Kyle and I get them all of the time,” Stan raised a brow, his jaw tense. He didn’t want a repeat of last week. “So, do you approve?”

Cartman looked up at him with a sneer, "They aren't Red Vines."

"No, they're not. They're better.”

Cartman opened the bag and popped a piece in his mouth. Cartman carefully thought it over as he chewed before finally grunting, “I don’t know about that, but it’s better than that Twizzler shit you tried pulling last time. You can stay.”

Relief filled him. Last time Cartman had kicked him out of his house for offering it to him as tribute. Of course Kyle left, too and they stayed over at his house instead, but it still didn’t make it any less annoying and disappointing that their Friday was partially ruined by something so stupid. Still, he couldn't resist adding, “How was I supposed to know that you can’t stand Twizzlers? You eat practically anything that has a calorie in it.”

“Ey! I have standards!"

"Could'a fooled us," Kenny laughed as he handed Cartman a CD case. "Here you go, you're very own pirated copy of The Game of Thrones' latest season, specially downloaded from your local library. Let's just say the MPAA aren't too happy with them for some illegal activity a visitor got away with."

"HD or standard def?"

"HD."

A wicked grin enveloped Cartman's face. His expression was reminiscent of a child on Christmas day, "I knew you were my best friend for some reason."

He got up to put the CD case alongside the many other pirated copies Kenny had given him over the years. He turned his attention back to Kenny and reminded him, "You still owe me for that microwave."

"A McCormick always pays their debts," Kenny swirled the contents of his cream soda, "but it takes time and patience."

"The latter of which Fatass doesn't have," Kyle added.

"'Ey, I've waited a month so far, Kahl. Give credit where credits due," Cartman huffed.

Stan had to give him that. The most Cartman's done that could be described as impatient was ask that question to Kenny everyday, otherwise, as far as Stan knows, he's been pretty reasonable about the whole thing. There haven't been any mentions of a stupid and insane idea Cartman thought of to speed up the process, such as freezing himself in order to avoid the whole waiting thing. Stan still remembered when Cartman first pitched the idea to them way back in elementary school. Stan still thought it was a stupid idea that would have just killed him rather than anything.

"W-why does Kenny owe Cartman a new microwave?" Butters asked suddenly, brows furrowed in confusion.

Stan figured he may as well say it. He turned to him and held up four fingers, "Rule number 4: Kenny, under no circumstances, is allowed in the kitchen." He put down his hand, "Fight him off if you have to. He nearly burnt down the house last time we let him have free reign."

"That's because Kenny right here," Kyle put his hand on Kenny's shoulder whom was donning an innocent expression on his face, "has absolutely no patience for cooking."

"He thought that microwaving a metal pot filled with fucking macaroni would make it cook faster. Before I knew it, the microwave was on fire and it practically exploded. Kinny isn't allowed anywhere near there anymore and he owes me a new microwave," his eyes narrowed slightly at said blond. "If you have to, don't hesitate to to force him out. Violence is encouraged."

Stan really couldn't blame Kenny for the incident. The kid grew up on Pop Tarts and Hot Pockets all of his life. He had little to no exposure when it came to physics and rules in the kitchen. Stan couldn't argue with the rule, though. It's probably for the best that Kenny has no remaining access to the toaster, oven, or stove top.

Kyle handed over the next item of tribute. It was something he brought regularly that Stan and Kenny absolutely loved: Super Smash Brothers Brawl, the king of Wii games. Cartman, however, didn't look impressed. It wasn't because he didn't like the game, it was because whenever he played against them all, he almost always lost. Usually he forced everyone to stop after losing so many times. After the first couple of times that happened, Stan and the others figured they'd let him win once in awhile so they wouldn't have to deal with Cartman whining about how they were all cheating or ganging up on him.

Carman tossed it on the table, knowing that if he were to say "no" to it, the others would put their foot down. He tried pulling that once months ago and it got ugly. Stan's pretty sure Kyle kept bringing the game just to spite Cartman.

"Butters, since you knew about the rule, you should have an item of tribute," it wasn't a question. Cartman fully expected him to have something ready. It's a good thing that Butters' crazy mom gave him a giant thing of cookies. Which reminded him, Stan should seriously ask Butters how many batches of cookies she was planning to make and if they were either for home, for work, or just her freaking out for some reason.

Cartman looked surprised by the tub and didn't hesitate to reach in and steal a bite in order to taste it. Butters looked extremely nervous, which wasn't unusual whenever he was around Cartman nowadays.

While still chewing the cookie, he said, "I'm impressed Butters, these are actually something else. You can stay."

Butters smile reached ear to ear at that. He clasped his hands together and said cheerfully, "By golly, really? Thanks Cartman! If you want, I can make us some chocolate chip muffins next week. I found an old recipe book in the basement when my parents had me clean it out a couple of weeks ago. It was written by Great-Grandma Gertrude and-"

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds great, Butters," Cartman waved the rest of what Butters was going to say off. He grabbed another cookie.

Stan was now very happy that Butters was able to join their whole charade.

Everyone knew Butters was an excellent baker. It was practically genetic in his family. With every generation, the next baker born was better than the one before. If his mom's cookies kicked ass, than these would be the best damn muffins Stan's ever had.

"You guys are dismissed."

Stan exchanged looks with Kyle before they headed towards the first of the many places filled to the brim with the pillows they were told to get. He nudged shoulders with Kyle, "This time, do you want to collect and I hold all the pillows."

"Sure, why not."

**++++**

Sometimes it felt like his height was making a mockery of itself. Kyle’s fingers sought for the edge of the pillow. His fingertips brushed against its floral fabric, but Kyle wasn’t able to get enough of a grip to grab it, even when he was standing on his tip toes. It was just out of his reach. He huffed in frustration, pointedly ignoring the pleasant hum coming from Stan.

Kyle could have sworn the pillows just last week were placed on a shelf lower than it was at the moment. Now the contents of the shelf he was thinking of were replaced with extra towels while the pillows were left to rot at the very top. Cartman probably noticed that Stan and Kyle interchanged between the role of collecting the pillows from the shelves and bedrooms and the role of carrying them to the living room. Fatass probably messed with the shelves just to give Kyle a hard time. Kyle wouldn’t admit defeat though. He wouldn’t let the fatass get the best of him.

After a few more meager attempts, Kyle began to ground his teeth in frustration. A sudden cough drew his attention. He turned around, crossing his arms with a small frown enveloping his expression. Stan smiled at him sheepishly behind the load of pillows he was carrying and asked, “Want me to get those?”

“No, I’ve got it,” Kyle bit out as his cheeks reddened in embarrassment. He didn’t want to admit that he needed help, especially when he was so close to overcoming Cartman’s ploy. All he needed to do was slowly draw the pillow out by hopping a few times and quickly flicking his hand behind it. After a few more attempts, there was still no luck.

Just as he was about to swear in frustration at his inability to solve the problem, he felt soft lips press against the back of his neck as warm arms enveloped his middle. Heat rushed to his cheeks as Stan began to kiss a tender spot behind his ear. Kyle tilted his head to the side. All frustration was soon replaced with want and arousal.

Against his better judgement, Kyle turned around and returned the kiss. He began it softly, brushing his lips against Stan’s in a series of light kisses before he deepened it, moving his lips in rhythmic movements in response to Stan’s happy hum. Stan teased his bottom lip, encouraging Kyle to open his mouth and allow Stan’s tongue entrance.

A sudden realization dawned on Kyle as Stan was pulling his right arm down from above Kyle’s head. Stan was grabbing the pillows for him while Kyle was a little...preoccupied. He drew back his head far enough to mutter an annoyed “bastard” before continuing where they left off.

Stan just smiled like an idiot into the kiss as he dropped the pillow on the ground in preference of running a hand through Kyle’s curly hair.

After a few minutes of kissing one another in the hallway, Kyle heard the sound of footsteps quickly approaching them. Before they could properly pull themselves away from one another, Kenny put something in Stan’s back pocket before patting his ass while saying, “I think you two might need this more than I do.” He snickered as he readjusted the pile of blankets he was carrying.

Stan grabbed whatever it was that had been put into his pocket with a look of annoyance on his face, before it was replaced with sheer mortification. In his hand was a packet of condoms, the exact ones Kenny was proudly waving at them outside Cartman's house. Kyle turned his head towards Kenny, folded his arms, and asked, “Really, Kenny?”

Kenny turned around without halting in his path and said, “You guys looked like you were just about to fuck each other right in the hallway. What did you expect me to do?”

A loud and strangled “what!” came from the living room. No doubt it was from Cartman.

Kyle sighed. With the moment between him and Stan lost, he jerked his head towards the hallway that led to the living room, “We probably should head back before fatass gets an aneurysm of some sort over there.”

After fixing up their now slightly disheveled appearance, they grabbed all of the pillows they had gathered throughout the house and followed Kenny’s path back to the living room. They were met with Cartman’s look of disapproval, no doubt from Kenny’s loud overexaggerated announcement of Kyle and Stan’s latest… activities. Kyle was still irritated at him about that.

Butters suddenly burst through the room, breaking any tension that had begun to develop between all of them over what wasn’t being said. He had come in with all smiles and an armful of snacks. He carefully spread the contents on the table, mindful of the open soda cans. “I got all of the snacks you have: Cheesy Poofs, Doritos, Peachy O’s, Midnight Milky Way, Chex Mix for Kyle, some M&Ms-”

“We can see that, Butters,” Cartman interrupted with no real malice in his voice. Kyle could tell he, quite frankly, just wanted to stop Butters from listing everything he brought when they could all recognize it in a glance.

Speaking of which, “Where’s the popcorn?”

Butters looked at them sheepishly and looked like he was resisting the urge to rub his knuckles together, “W-well, that’s the thing. I-I couldn’t find any.”

Cartman stood up at that. He pulled out his phone and quickly punched in a number--most likely his mom, knowing him. After a ring or two, Kyle could make out a woman’s voice. “Yeah, mom, we’re fine,“ Cartman huffed. “Look I--mom, you don’t need to. Mom! Are you even listening to me, I’m….yes. Ugh. Yes, I know that already. I-- MOM, did you remember to get us popcorn?!”

Kyle was stifling a snicker throughout the exchange, in fact, most of them were.

“Well, why didn’t you buy some if you knew we were out?.... You thought we’d manage without it? But mom, it’s a manover for fuck’s sake,” Cartman sighed dramatically, clearly frustrated but mumbled a moment later into the phone, “It’s okay mom, I understand that you were busy. I-- Fine. Where is it?.... Thanks mom--Yes. Ugh. I love you, too. Bye,” Cartman put his phone back in his pocket, looking a little disgruntled.

“Any luck?” Stan asked as he began arranging the mountain of pillows in preparation of the movie they were going to play in a bit.

“Mom left us some cash just in case we need it. One or two of us will have to run over to the Cash and Dash and buy some,” he said, heading towards the kitchen to, no doubt, grab the money Liane had left.

Kyle raised a brow at Cartman and asked him, slightly bemused, “Do we really need popcorn for the movie, though? I mean look at all of the shit you have here. We can practically feed the entire country of Africa and still have leftovers.”

“Just for that Kyle, you’re going to get the popcorn.”

Kyle breathed out in frustration. _Of course._

Cartman turned his attention towards Kenny, “Kenny, you go, too. I don’t trust the Jew enough with this task. He’d probably get some shitty knock-off brand if we left him to his own devices, and if Stan or Butters went along instead, he’d probably get them to go along with his shit.” Cartman was right to distrust Kyle. He’d do just that if Cartman hadn’t already predicted it.

“Why don’t you get off your fat ass and come and get it yourself?” Kyle crossed his arms and calmly raised a brow in protests.

“Because Kahl,” Cartman began like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Craig works weekends at the Cash and Dash.”

,/i.Oh. Right. Kyle had almost forgotten about the deal Cartman had struck up with Craig: if Craig helped Cartman choose the best movie for them to watch every Friday, Cartman promised to not get him involved with whatever the group had planned as a result of it.

“Come on Kenny, let’s just go get the damn popcorn and be done with it,” Kyle turned around and grabbed his shoes, already hating the time that they were wasting in order to please Jabba the Hutt.

**++++**

The Cash and Dash was a concrete gas station built not too far from Cartman’s house and was owned by Lyle Strokes, a middle-aged man with vicious temper and an unforgiving heart. Although the Cash and Dash didn’t have much to offer in terms of products, it covered the bare essentials and the inside was relatively clean. Overall, it wasn’t too shabby of a place.

When the glass door was pushed open, a bell rang signifying Kyle and Kenny’s arrival. Its sweet toll raised the attention of the Cash and Dash’s only present employee, Craig Tucker, and, as a result, pulled his gaze away from his Red Racer comic book for a split second. Upon realizing who the two customers were, he casually flipped them off before returning to his comic book.

“Hello to you, too, Craigifer,” Kenny teased. He snickered when he earned himself another flip of the bird.

“What do you want?”

“A blowjob would be nice, but we both know who you’re saving that for,” Kenny responded cheekily. He was given another show of Craig’s middle finger. Three and counting.

Kenny briefly wondered if he could make a record here if he kept at it. If he remembered correctly, his record was twenty-three in a span of two minutes.

“Don’t worry, we’re just here for some popcorn. Which is in…?” Kyle asked Craig, blatantly ignoring Kenny’s behaviour. He most likely didn’t want to encourage him any further. Too bad for him, Kenny didn't usually need any sort of encouragement to irritate those around him for shits and giggles half of the time.

“On the right hand side of aisle three. It should be next to the hot chocolate,” Craig grunted.

“Thanks, dude,” Kyle waved at him as another way of saying thanks before departing.

This left Kenny alone and, after a few failing attempts to grab Craig’s attention, this left Kenny bored. As a result, he took this as an opportunity to explore what else this gas station had to offer. Without Lyle here, Kenny didn’t have to worry about him breathing down his back every second he was in it. Ever since his brother, Kevin, was caught stealing a Snickers bar from the store, Lyle had a grudge against every member of the McCormick family, which, unfortunately, also included Kenny.

There wasn’t anything too special about the store. There were both popular and generic brands lining the shelves with an occasional treasure hidden behind all of the beef jerky and bags of candy, such as Pee Cola, Ayds, and Golden Gaytime.

He was so keen on finding another strange food item to try out, he hadn't noticed the man in front of him that was just closing the glass freezer door of the dairy section. As a result, Kenny ran into the man, and would have knocked the person off balance if it were not for the steady hand Kenny gave.

He quickly spouted out an apology to the man he had run in to, taking a few steps back with his arms raised in order to look non-threatening. When his gaze focused on the person in front of him, his hasty apology stopped in mid-sentence.

The man standing before him looked extremely ill. His skin was pasty and his face was drenched with sweat that pooled over the lids of his eyes and the contours of his face, giving him a sickly sheen. There were bags under his eyes and it was clear that he was suffering flu-like symptoms. He breathed solely out of his mouth as mucous slid down from his nose.

What was especially odd was the state of his skin. Blisters lined along his forehead, irritated and angry. His shoulder was encased with what looked like a large bruise, swollen with who knows what. On his cheeks, skin was flaking off and, in some places, was tearing off completely, revealing sore flesh.

The most notable detail, however, was the bandage wrapped loosely around his wrist attached to the hand that was holding onto a milk jug he had just retrieved. The image of Mr. Stotch briefly flashed through his mind, but he shrugged it off seeing as the bandages were the only similarity between the two. Unlike this man, Mr. Stotch wasn't roaming around in an old battered robe looking like he had just risen from the dead.

The man stared blankly at Kenny in response. There was no indication that he even registered what had happened between them. In fact, all the man was doing was repeatedly opening and closing his mouth.

"You okay, man?" Kenny cautiously asked, careful to make some distance between the two of them.

Said man started to walk forward, not even acknowledging that Kenny was obstructing his path. Kenny was forced to move out of the man’s way in order to avoid another collision. Kenny watched as he approached Craig and tossed a few bills on the counter before he walked out without exchanging any further interaction.

Craig merely shrugged and stuffed all of it into the register, paying no mind to the excess amount of cash he had just been given. It was almost like he was used to this whole charade.

“What do you think that was all about?” Kyle nudged Kenny’s elbow, rousing Kenny out of his churning thoughts.

“I have no idea,” Kenny turned towards Kyle, jerking his thumb in the general direction the man headed towards. “Did you at least get a good look at that guy? He looked downright fucked up.”

“Not really, no. I was just heading up front when I noticed the guy pay Craig twice of what he owed him. And here I thought the Black family was the only one who could afford to waste a couple of bucks like that,” Kyle’s brows were furrowed at the strangeness of the situation.

Kenny chuckled to himself in spite of the ordeal. He couldn’t help but imagine Cartman cracking some sort of Anti-Semitic joke at Kyle’s words. Cartman was right, sometimes people adopted their stereotypes without them realizing it.

Kyle handed Craig their boxful of popcorn without a second thought and, as he rang up the only item they were purchasing, being the nosey-type that he is, Kyle couldn’t help but ask him, “Do you know what was up with the previous customer you checked out?”

Craig raised a brow in response to Kyle’s question, but otherwise didn’t signify any cause for alarm or even that anything was odd about his previous interaction, “Frank Willis? He’s been buying milk every few hours since Thursday. Probably delirious from the flu.”

“And you’re perfectly fine with him not knowing that?” Kyle gave him a look that awfully reminded Kenny of Mrs. Broflovski. He’d have to make a note to tease him about that later.

“Not my problem,” Craig shrugged his shoulders with indifference. “That’ll be $3.19.”

**++++**

Has Cartman ever mentioned how much he hated playing SSBB against other people?

With the mechanics of the game and how easy it was to lose track of his character at some points amidst all of the chaos, it was a wonder that no one else thought the whole thing was just stupid. Him losing the past seven rounds had nothing to do with the fact that SSBB wasn't that great of a game. No, seriously.

Stan shouldn't even be allowed to play Ike, and who thought that Butters could do pretty well as Princess Peach. Fucking Peach! Of all of the characters he can choose, of course he would choose the sissiest looking one. He shouldn't even be surprised. What he was surprised about was that Butters was actually good. Cartman should be the one kicking his ass, not the other way around.

Cartman was so focused on finally earning himself a win as Bowser, and **not** Metaknight as Stan had suggested he use, that he didn't hear the front door open.

"Got the popcorn," Kyle practically shouted from the front door.

"Awesome, Dude. We're playing your game right now," Stan called out in response.

Cartman's eyes flickered briefly in order to see Kenny and Kyle walk into his living room before he focused them back on the task at hand.

"How many matches have you played so far?" Kyle further inquired as he sat beside Stan on the couch.

"About six or seven. I've won about four of those and Butters won the rest. He's pretty good for a beginner," Stan said just as his character, Ike, was crushed by Bowser's down-b maneuver only for Bowser to be smacked by Peach's side-b attack. Cartman let out a growl of frustration.

Cartman wanted to set them all straight, that Butters wasn’t as great as Stan was saying he was and that the only reason why either of them were winning so often, especially Butters, was that they kept using cheap ass moves against him, but the reason he hadn’t was because it’d break his concentration. Speaking of breaking concentration, Kenny was whispering something to Butters. Cartman gritted his teeth at the sound. All he wanted to do was finally whoop their sorry asses and prove to them how a victory can be achieved when one uses actual skill rather than cop out moves.

A minute passed by and all that could be heard in the room was frantic button pushing and their characters’ war cries as they fought one another, that is, until there was a sudden turn of events in the game. It seemed that Cartman’s superiority was finally showing in his gameplay, because one minute Bowser was getting shit on by his opponents and in the next his character was taking out both Ike and Peach like they were nothing.

A wide grin overtook Cartman’s face as he blasted their final lives to kingdom come using Bowser’s final smash. It was explosive. It was ruthless. It was glorious. It was all Cartman wanted and so much more.

As the screen announced the winner to all of them, Cartman set down his controller on the table and leaned back against the couch with a large smug smile on his face, “And that’s how it’s done. See what happens when real skill is applied rather than cheap combos?” He turned to Stan in order to give him a condescending grin, “And without using Metaknight.”

"Congratulations. So, does that mean we’re changing up the players?” Kyle asked curtly, grabbing the fourth and final Wii remote as Kenny took hold of the controller Cartman had just discarded, and properly pissing Cartman off.

Right when a new match started, with Kenny playing as Pit and Kyle playing as Marth, did Cartman choose to respond, “‘Ey, who says we’re going to continue playing this game?”

“Wait, so we let you win for nothing? Come on dude, I wanted to play a bit longer,” Stan complained, but it looked like he regretted it as soon as it left his mouth.

And he should.

This comment made Cartman’s blood boil. All of the pride and joy he had previously felt barrelled itself town into the very depths of Hell.

He got off of the couch and approached the outlet that was closest to the TV. He pulled out the cord that was connected to the Wii while he let out a high-pitched, “Oops.” With that, he started up the DVD player and sat back down on the couch. “Now that we have all of that bullshit behind us, we can start up the main event.”

“You can’t just do that Cartman,” Kyle interjected as Cartman grabbed a wooden box from underneath the couch.

“Whatever do you mean, Kahl?” Cartman asked innocently, fluttering his lashes for good measure.

“You know very well what you did, fatass,” Kyle snapped back, tossing the controller haphazardly onto the table knowing when he’d lost.

“It’s not my fault if the Wii decides to just quit on you guys. Besides, aren’t you guys more interested in what movie we’re watching?” Cartman asked, knowing that if he steered the conversation in a different direction, the others would, more or less, happily go along with the change of events.

“W-what movie are we watchin’, Cartman?” Butters began hesitantly and, for good measure, he added, “What’s in the box, if ya don't mind me askin'?”

Cartman smirked, jerking his thumb in Butters general direction as he told Kyle triumphantly, “See? The movie succeeds SSBB. End of discussion.”

“B-but Cartman, I never said I didn’t want ta play still--”

“End of discussion,” Cartman reasserted. He then opened the box and began to pull out all of the tools of their trade.

Everyone around him begrudgingly resigned to his authority and began situating themselves more comfortably around the living room as Cartman explained to Butters what he was exactly doing, “This box contains everything we need to begin the main event: the Betting Pool. Essentially, we'll be making predictions based off of these questions Craig gave us." Cartman pulled out an old tattered notebook that had seen better days. He opened it up to the latest written entry. On the top right-hand margin was that Friday's date.

"Each of us will get the chance to write down our predictions. No one is allowed to look until the very end. Whoever gets the most questions wrong will have to pay a price of our choosing. What do you say Butters, you interested or are you too much of a pussy to participate?"

“I ain’t a pussy. I-I’m up for anythin’ ya throw at me!” Butters replied with a small fire burning in his eyes.

Cartman returned the grin Butters was giving him before looking at the others, “Okay, assholes, get ready to use your brains for once. The movie we’ll be watching tonight is a horror movie called ‘You’re Next.' Craig says that the movie isn’t all that special but it’ll serve its purpose and it’s still enjoyable to watch, so we’ll just have to trust him. If there isn’t truth to his words, you all know what to do.”

Cartman handed out a blank card and a pen that had been inside the box to everyone in the room. “Craig says that we should start making predictions once all of the main characters are at the dinner table for the family get together. All of the characters we need will be introduced by then. There are ten in total. Kinny, read off this week’s questions.”

Kenny pulled himself off of the floor and grabbed the worn notebook from Cartman’s hands. He sat on the couch’s armrest and immediately began reading Craig’s neat handwriting in his best show host-voice, “Keep these questions in mind guys and get your observation caps on. There'll only be one loser tonight and you sure as hell don't want to be it. Here we go: 'Who will be the first to die? Who will be the most obnoxious? Who will be the most badass? Who will be the last to die? Who will survive, if anyone?' And, finally, whoever is the closest to the right answer of this question will be automatically prevented from losing this whole thing. The question is 'How will the movie end?'"

Stan stood up from the couch and offered his hand to everyone in the middle, "May the best guesser win."

**++++**

It was almost surreal walking alongside everyone in the dead of night. The linear rows of street lamps illuminated the group’s trek home and acted as their sole source of light. Clouds dusted the sky and a gentle breeze sent a chill through Butters’ whole being.

Butters was never allowed out this late, especially when he was with a group of friends. If his parents knew what his Friday night had entailed, he’d be grounded for life and sent to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting as soon as possible.

“I still can’t believe you went through with it, dude. I was just joking when I suggested it,” Stan chuckled lowly to himself as he admired the consequences of his friend’s defeat.

“Well, now you tell me. Oh well, at least it’ll be covered up most of the time. I’ve got to admit, it’s kinda growing on my though. Good thing too, because this thing ain’t coming off anytime soon... or, well, ever,” Kenny shrugged like it was no big deal. Butters couldn’t help but admire his indifference, knowing that if he were in the same situation, he wouldn’t be reacting the same way at all.

“Seriously, though, you’re okay with having the word ‘Titties’ eloquently written on your inner wrist for the rest of your life?” Kyle asked with his brows raised with curiosity.

After a moment or two of contemplation, stopping in the middle of the road all the while, he presented the tattoo into the limelight and proclaimed proudly, “Sure. Why not? It let’s everyone know what I like. Hell, maybe I should add ‘Dicks’ and ‘Ass’ to the list, too for good measure.”

Butters couldn’t help but laugh a bit at that, imagining the ridiculousness of the whole thing. He, too, couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief at the notion that Kenny also liked the, er, other parts. “So, what’re we doin’ next?” Butters asked them all curiously as they stood aimlessly around Kenny. He hoped it wasn’t anything too extreme seeing as it was hours past his bedtime anyways (it was about 10 o’clock), and he felt like he could barely stay awake as it is.

“I’m up for another movie,” Stan suggested, glancing expectantly in Cartman’s direction.

Cartman simply ran his hand through his hair before he finally relented, “Fine.”

Butters looked at them nervously. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to risk losing at such a dangerous game again so soon, especially when he was only one question short from losing altogether. His worry must have been easy to read, because Kenny lightly bumped shoulders with him, “Don’t worry, Butterscotch. The Betting Pool is only a once a week occurrence. In order to play again you’ll have to wait until next week.”

Butters smiled at the endearing nickname Kenny occasionally called him.

“Hate to change the subject and all, but, Kenny, isn’t that the guy from the Cash and Dash?” Kyle interjected, turning the entire group’s attention towards a staggering figure in the distance. Butters couldn’t see the man very well due to the poor lighting. It looked like he was holding a jug of milk and was donning a bathrobe. He, too, was unsteadily heading straight towards the group.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s Frank Willis,” Kenny looked at the guy incredulously. “I’d recognize that dirty bathrobe anywhere.”

“Um, guys, I think we should probably get the hell out of here,” Stan said, taking a few steps back.

But it was much too late.

A high-pitched shriek sounded from the man as he picked up speed and barreled straight into-

“Kenny!” Butters yelled as his best friend was tackled to the ground.

It was like something out of a nightmare. Kenny’s attacker looked twisted and distorted. His eyes were bugged and glazed over with green mucous pouring out of his tear ducts. Chunks of flesh looked like they had been forcefully torn from his skin. His throat looked bulbous and bruised. Contusions raked the rest of his body, as well. The milk the man had been carrying had been dropped carelessly to the ground in preference of using his hands to pin Kenny down as his teeth dove straight into his neck causing blood to spill.

It wasn’t long before everyone kicked into high gear as Kenny’s terrified “what the fuck”’s and “are you fucking kidding me”’s rang out into the night followed by his attacker’s ear-piercing cries. Butters could hear his heartbeat reverberate in his eardrums. He had to think fast. If they did nothing, Kenny could very well die if the man bit him in just the right spot. Kenny was his most important person. Without him, Butters would have nothing.

Without thinking, Butters grabbed hold of the discarded milk jug and proceeded to hit Kenny’s attacker with it as Cartman used his incredible strength to try and pry the man off of Kenny with Stan and Kyle trying to pull Kenny away from this monster.

It wasn’t until the milk jug actually broke from the sheer force of hitting him that Mr. Willis stopped attacking. Cartman dropped the now unconscious man to the ground without any thought for his safety. Mr. Willis collapsed onto the floor, writhing and twitching on the ground in an ungraceful heap.

By the end of it, Butters was breathing heavily and soaked to the bone with 1% milk. His body hurt slightly from the struggle, but Kenny was now safe. Butters blinked a few times in wonder, finally noticing the sound of a siren blaring in the distance and that all of the lights in the neighborhood were on.

He glanced towards Kenny, who was now standing with the help of Stan. Kyle tore off a part of his white dress shirt and pressed it against the bite wound on Kenny’s shoulder in order to try and stop the bleeding and let Kenny take over once he realized what Kyle was doing exactly.

“Guys, we need to get the hell out of here,” Cartman said while he gingerly stepped over Mr. Willis. He started inching towards the direction of his house indicating that everyone should follow him.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the police?” Stan asked him with a concerned look. “I mean, this was all in self-defense.”

“Hate to break it to you, but that can’t be easily proven. Willis over here is hurt more than Kenny and people tuned in just as Butters, here, started beating the guy with the milk jug. If anything, we’ll be charged for assault if we stay,” Cartman reasoned, gesturing for them to follow. “If we leave now, we might be able to avoid all of that bullshit.”

Butters felt conflicted, but before he could make a decision, the others had already made theirs and were fleeing the area before anyone was able to identify them. Butters couldn’t do much else but follow, “I-I don’t know, fellas. This seems like a bad idea.”

“Don’t be retarded, Butters,” Cartman absentmindedly retorted.

Kenny pulled himself away from Stan’s side and slowed his pace so that he could allow Butters to catch up with him. Butters glanced down briefly at Kenny’s left leg. It seemed that Mr. Willis left Kenny with a slight limp, but nothing that he couldn’t easily recover from after a good night’s sleep, Butters reckoned.

“Frank Willis will be okay. The police will be bring him to the hospital and get him looked at. You can’t really do much damage with a jug of milk. As for you,” Kenny grabbed Butters hand in order to pick up their pace. The gesture caused butterflies to flitter in Butters’ tummy, “we need to get you out of here before your parents find out what happened. We want you to be able to come next Friday after all.” Kenny gave him a wink before turning his attention back to the others.

Their hands never lost their hold of one another until they were all safely back inside Cartman’s living room.

“What do we do now?” Kenny asked, wincing when Kyle washed the bite mark with an alcoholic swab. Kyle had insisted that Kenny should get the wound cleaned and dressed using the first-aid kit he found in the pantry. No use risking an infection, Kyle had said. Luckily for Kenny it didn’t look deep enough for stitches.

As for Butters, he really needed to get out of these wet clothes.

“Well, Stan did suggest we watch another movie. Cartman, do you have anything in mind?” Kyle asked absentmindedly as he began to clumsily dress Kenny’s teeth marks.

“Already on it.”

It wasn’t long before everyone was comfortably sitting on the couch. The pillows Stan and Kyle had gathered earlier that day surrounded them all. It felt almost as if it were a giant comfy fortress.

At one end of the couch, Kyle and Stan were sharing a blanket. Kyle was nestled into Stan’s side while Stan wrapped an arm around his shoulders, absentmindedly playing with his red curls. Cartman was in the middle of the group, hoarding most of the pillows. In his arms was a giant bowl of popcorn, now half empty by the time they were about ten minutes into the movie “Iron Sky.” Butters was wedged in between Cartman and Kenny. With his Hello Kitty pajamas now on, he had a pillow in his lap and a blanket drawn over most of his body, his was the only thing seen poking out of the folds of the over-sized patchwork quilt. As for Kenny, he was lazily resting against the armrest of the couch with his feet lying on top of Butters’ and Cartman’s legs.

Butters eyed Kenny curiously. He was acting a little strange.

When they had been watching “You’re Next” earlier that night, Kenny had been asking rhetorical questions left and right to the point that Cartman had thrown a pillow or two at Kenny’s head to try and get him to stop talking. Butters’ always liked this side of Kenny, the side where he was comfortable enough with the people around him to say everything that was on his mind and become much more animate than usual. It was very different from the times when he was in front of a bunch of adults and strangers, almost polar.

But this time, Kenny didn’t say much of anything. The others seemed to have noticed it but didn’t feel the need to point it out, because they were filling in the void with their own ridiculous questions and comments. Kenny just sat there, fingering the bandage that covered his bitemark and sticking his tongue in between the gap of his two front teeth. Butters reckoned he must be deep in thought about something or other.

Kenny must have noticed that Butters was staring at him, because the next thing Butters knew, Kenny directed a smile his way before ruffling his hair affectionately. Warmth pooled in the pit of Butters’ stomach. He couldn’t help but return the cheeky grin before getting himself more comfortable and finally be able to focus on the movie. If something was wrong, Kenny would tell Butters right away, right? They were best friends afterall.

Because he was finally able to relax, his sleepiness was finally able to catch up to him. It wasn’t long before he found himself drifting off and falling asleep to the sound of a black-turned-white man screaming at Nazis in the background.

**++++**

A loud, echoing laugh disrupted the sleep of every remaining dreamer in the room. All memories of strange dreams filled with chaos and nonsense were forgotten within seconds after being woken with a start. For a particular dreamer, nauseousness replaced those dreams, causing bile to rise up in his throat.

With no warning, Kenny scrambled out of his sleeping bag and rushed to the nearest bathroom. As soon as he reached the toilet, he emptied the contents of his stomach, staining the pristine bowl red with Australian licorice. It was a good thing he decided to ditch wearing the scarf last night, otherwise he might not have made it to the toilet in time.

Once he was sure he wouldn’t puke his guts out again, he hesitantly pulled himself away from the toilet brim and flushed down the mess he made. Afterwards, he promptly rinsed out his mouth, pausing to look at himself in the mirror. Kenny furrowed his brow with concern at his current state. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was dappled with a thin layer of sweat. He was paler than usual, too, which made his light freckles stand out more than normal. He looked like a wreck. He just hoped that washing his face would help a bit.

All of the junk food last night must not have agreed with him, and, coupled with the fact that most of them stayed up until five in the morning, it was doomed to be a disaster for him in the morning. He didn’t even want to think that it had something to do with that bite wound Mr. Willis gave him last night. Last thing he needed was an infection of some kind, especially when his family couldn’t afford to treat it. Even if they had any health insurance to cover most of it, which they don’t, he’d probably die from the infection anyways--if that was indeed the case. Similar things have happened before.

A soft knock interrupted his worried thoughts, drawing his attention away from the mirror. “K-Kenny, you okay?” A nervous voice called from the other side of the door.

Kenny smiled, quickly wiping the remaining sweat and water from his face with the nearest hand towel before he began to respond, “Yeah, I’m fine, Butters. Probably a little hungover from all of the candy I ate.” No need to cause unneeded concern. If he did die, Butters wouldn’t remember anyways.

He’d just pretend he felt his usual one-hundred percent. He’d gotten really good at pretending that was the case over the years.

When he opened the door and saw Butters’ face, he must not have suppressed his snickers fast enough, because Butters gave him a confused look. “What ya laughin’ about? Ya thinkin’ bout a joke ya heard before or somethin’?” Butters asked him with innocent blue eyes.

Okay, so Kenny felt a little guilty for what their group had done to Butters and he knew Butters would not be happy with him at all, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from giving in and just laughing his ass off. His response seemed to just confuse Butters even more. He must have realized, though, that Kenny started laughing whenever he looked at Butters’ face, because he poked his cheek experimentally, unknowingly smearing their handiwork even more, which immediately sent Kenny into another fit of shits and giggles. Butters huffed out with a mixture of annoyance and offense, “A-am I makin’ a funny face? ‘Cause ya know how much my parents don’t like me makin’ funny faces, and ya promised ya would let me know if I ever-”

Kenny quickly held out his hands in protest at the accusation and stopped Butters mid-sentence before he could head even further towards the wrong conclusion, guilt finally snaring around him like a vice, “No, it’s nothing like that!”

“Then what is it? W-what are ya laughin’ about, mister?” Butters asked him accusingly, poking his index finger into Kenny’s chest in order to emphasize the seriousness of his words.

In order to save his breath, knowing that if he tried to explain why he was laughing there was always the possibility that Butters could misinterpret what he was trying to tell him, he lightly tugged the collar of his pajamas and pulled him in front of the mirror to show him himself.

Kenny couldn’t help but play it up, waving his hands behind Butters head like he was presenting some masterpiece, all the while saying, “Tada!”

Butters didn’t look as amused. His face had briefly adopted a surprised ‘o’ face before it gave into a slight frown. He leaned closer towards the mirror and delicately touched the added features drawn on his face while asking, “Gee, willickers, w-what happened?”

Kenny rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, careful to avoid the bandage, knowing that Butters wasn’t talking about how the crude drawings and random designs got on his face, but why. “I’ll tell you only if you don’t get mad at me.”

Butters was silent for a moment, his mouth now a firm line as he thought it over. Kenny waited for his response with unease. Then Butters body seemed to fold in on itself a bit when he let out a long breath before murmuring, “I don’t think I could ever get mad at ya, Kenny, or at least real mad.”

Kenny gave him a soft smile before taking a breath and continuing with what he wanted to tell him, “I sorta didn’t tell you about the last rule we have: rule five. This one is pretty complex and has some pretty damning consequences…” He trailed off a bit

“K-Kenny, what did you get me into?” Butters looked legitimately scared at this point.

Okay, maybe Kenny shouldn’t have begun it with the whole ‘damning consequences’ detail, but it’s still something important to note. It was time to backtrack it a bit, “But rule five is still pretty harmless when you look at the big picture! There are boundaries in place that make sure of it. Trust me, everyone’s had to deal with rule number five at least once, and I made sure everyone used washable marker instead of the usual permanent marker, this time.”

Kenny tried to justify his reasoning to the best of his ability, of course leaving out out the fact that everyone bribed him to not warn Butters about it (it took quite a bit for him to give in), but it seemed to be of no use because Butters still looked pretty peeved about the whole thing. The poorly drawn dick on his face became distorted because of the stern expression he adopted.

Kenny briefly wondered if Butters would feel less targeted if he told him about the time the group gave Cartman a black face using permanent marker back in middle school. They all knew that Cartman was supposed to meet Wendy at the mall later that day to work on a group project, and, after Cartman decided to drench them all with a super soaker filled with deer piss, they had to get him back somehow. To their amusement, they later heard that Token happened to be with her and apparently they were pissed beyond belief at how ‘insensitive’ Cartman was. They didn’t believe him when he said it was Kyle, Stan, and Kenny’s fault, which was actually true for once. Cartman didn’t speak to Kenny or the rest of the gang for a week after that.

“W-what’s the rule exactly?”

“Whoever falls asleep first gets their face drawn on by everyone else-”

“Well, that doesn’t seem so bad…”

“There’s, um, there’s a lot more to it than just that,” Kenny gave him a guilty smile as they headed back towards the living room. “Rule number five states that the first person to fall asleep gets their face drawn on by everyone else. They also owe everyone one request that they can’t say ‘no’ to, but, like I said before, there are boundaries set up. We can’t make anyone do something that can fuck them up.”

“So, what about the other fellas? What can’t they do?” Butters looked at him curiously, but seemed a bit hesitant. No doubt wondering if he was being too nosy, which he wasn’t.

Kenny counted off each finger as he named off each restriction, “You’re not allowed to request Stan to drink alcohol. Kyle can’t be put into a diabetic coma by forcing him to eat a ton of sugary shit or not allow him to take his insulin. I can’t be forced to pay you or anyone what I can’t afford. Cartman can’t do anything awful that’s related to his mom. Like I said before, the whole thing’s pretty harmless once you look at the big picture.”

Butters seemed to have calmed down a bit after that bit of information was given to him and the frown that had accompanied him for the past several minutes finally disappeared completely, much to Kenny’s relief. Unfortunately, it came back once they walked into the living room and Cartman got a good look at Butters face and started laughing just as loud and obnoxious as he did this morning. It got on Kenny’s nerves a bit.

Butters scowled and walked out of the room and into the kitchen saying, “I'm going ta wash this mess off my face."

"Oh, come on. You look great!" Cartman called out after him in between his uncontrollable fits of laughter. When Butters was no longer within view, he turned to Kenny in order to add, "I knew we should have used permanent marker, but you just had to spoil the fun."

"It's either that or having him never come to another one of these. I know you don't care either way, but I have needs, dude," Kenny playfully smacked Cartman's shoulder when saying the comment. He took a second to glance around the room and asked, "Hey, where's Kyle and Stan? They in one of your closets about to fuck, again?"

Cartman seemed to turn a bit green at the memory, seeing as he was the one who had caught them with their tongues practically down their throats (kinky). He scowled, "The Jew and his bitch are in the kitchen eating breakfast and Kahl's getting his insulin shot or some shit."

Kenny nodded, wishing he could just waltz his way into the kitchen and join them, but it wasn't worth getting tackled to the ground by fatass over here. Besides, he wasn't quite sure he could handle eating anything right now anyways.

“‘Ey, Kinny, you want to pay off your debt, right?”

That caught Kenny’s attention. He stared at Cartman for a long time and eventually responded with, “A McCormick always pays their debts.”

“Great! Then you won’t say ‘no’ when I ask you to help me out with something this afternoon. At 12:30, be sure to meet me at South Park High. If you do this, I’ll pretend you never broke the microwave in the first place,” Cartman smiled a smile that sent chills up Kenny’s spine. What mess did he get into now?

But if he looked on the bright side, “Does this mean I’m allowed to go back into the kitchen?”

“I’ll think about it.” Cartman was probably just trying to get his hopes up. The cocktease.

“I got most of the marker off, but one of the wieners drawn on my face just doesn’t seem ta want ta get off. You fellas did use washable marker, right?” Butters walked in, wiping a particular spot vigorously with a towel.

Kenny quickly looked towards Cartman with narrowed eyes. His best friend was staring at the ceiling with his arms behind his back, whistling innocently. Fatass probably did it when Kenny wasn’t looking.

“Aw shucks, ya did, didn’t ya?” Butters sighed with resignation. It didn’t seem like he was blaming anyone in particular, just disappointed that it happened in general. “My parents aren’t going ta be too pleased with this.

“We could try putting a bandaid over it before you leave,” Kyle suggested as he and Stan appeared in the living room.

“When are you supposed to head home, anyways?” Stan asked with some curiosity as he began to change out of his pajamas and back into the clothes he was wearing yesterday, much to Kyle’s distaste.

Butters eyes got really wide at that. It looked like his whole world had shattered before him. “Oh, jeez, I totally forgot ta check my phone! I’m goin’ be in so much trouble!” He scrambled towards his messenger bag, abandoning the towel in the process, revealing that, yes, he still had a dick on his face, and dug into its pockets. He pulled out his iPhone and scrolled through his messages, a look of brief relief flittered across his face for just a moment.

“What’s up?” Kenny couldn’t help but ask as he walked up to Butters’ side.

“It looks like I missed a few texts and a call or two, but it doesn’t look like they’re real angry. Just disappointed.”

He showed Kenny one of the texts his dad had sent him: _I’d really appreciate it if you picked up the phone once in your life, but we understand that you’re having fun. Boys will be boys. Don’t get into trouble now or we’ll know._

Kenny didn’t know what to think of it.

“The last text mom sent me was a bit of a doozy. Turns out dad got sick last night, so we’ll have ta take care of him until he’s in tip top shape again, y’know? Mom wants me home by ten and it’s 9:45, so I don’t have any time to dilly-dally,” Butters explained as he packed what little he took out. He didn’t bother changing into his actual clothes. He turned towards the others just as he finished packing all of his things, and with a soft smile Butters said, “Thanks so much for invitin’ me, fellas. I had a really good time! Next Friday I’ll be sure to bake everyone something myself and I’ll even bring a movie or a game or two if ya want.”

“No problem, dude. Can’t wait,” Stan smirked.

“You’ll have to let us know how it goes with your parents,” Kyle said just as he got out of the kitchen, handing Butters a band-aid before he could forget it.

“Gee, thanks, Kyle,” Butters’ smile grew in size.

Out of instinct, Kenny grabbed the band-aid from Butters’ hand before Butters knew what hit him. He opened its wrapper and placed it precariously over the dick so that it didn’t show any of it. “There, you’re good as gold now,” Kenny smiled, clapping Butters on the back. “Don’t forget to tell us about where you draw the line for rule number 5 on Monday.”

Butters cheeks were slightly flushed, but he nodded. “I won’t. Oh, and I’ll call Cartman or someone that can get ahold of ya ta let ya know whether or not I can tutor ya tomorrow. It really depends on how my dad’s feelin’. Hopefully it’ll be okay, because we need ta brush you up on your English, mister.”

Kenny nodded, “Sounds good.”

As Butters left Cartman’s house with a cheerful wave and headed a couple of houses down the road to his house, Kenny couldn’t help but think back on Mr. Willis and Mr. Stotch’s bandaged hand, hell, even his own bitten neck and the nauseousness he felt today. He hoped it was all a coincidence. That something wasn’t rotten in South Park, but with South Park, you never knew.

**+__+**

Kenny shouldn’t have broken that microwave. He regretted it ever since the damn thing had short-circuited and had set him and the microwave on fire, killing him in the process. It hadn’t been one of his favourite Fridays.

Kenny had the tendency to not think things through. It might have been ingrained in him due to his immortality or through genetics, seeing as his dad certainly hadn’t thought hard about consequences. Unlike Kenny, when his dad died, there was no resurrection. Once dead, Kenny’s dad stayed dead.

Although that had helped Kenny think more about the future, it still hadn’t stopped him from destroying Cartman’s microwave. Why did mac and cheese have to take twenty minutes to cook anyways? He heard from Cartman later that his mac and cheese had cooked faster using his method, but the taste wasn't worth the damages done.

Which was why he was currently on the roof of South Park High in order to earn money to pay off the microwave. How? By jumping from the main school building onto the detached gymnasium using his skateboard. It was all Cartman’s idea. With only a small fee of $5, the people of South Park got to see Kenny do something stupid, again.

He couldn’t blame them, really. It’d been months since South Park had experienced anything, well, exciting, by South Park’s standards, to bide people’s time. They were bound to come check this out. Kenny, himself, wasn’t all too nervous about making the jump from building to building. He’d done it once before as the elusive Mysterion, after all. He did, however, still feel a bit under the weather, and he wasn't sure how that would affect his skateboarding abilities.

“Come on, Kinny! We don’t have all day!” Cartman shouted from the school’s parking lot, a decent sized crowd surrounding him. They were all staring at the orange-clad figure with a mixture of anticipation and boredom.

Kenny let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Although he knew that there wouldn’t be many consequences if he were to miss, he still felt like he should take the time to think and ask himself what he was doing with his life. Anything to distract himself with the fact that if he missed, it’d still hurt like a bitch when he would die and not the good kind of hurt.

He tightened the strings of his hoodie and stared up at the hastily built ramp with a look of determination gleaming in his eyes. He began to skate towards the ramp. The wind that whipped past him sent thrills up his spine and, with his worries and state of health forgotten, a large, giddy grin overtook his hidden features.

With the speed he was currently going and the angle he was quickly approaching the ramp with, there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to make it safely across. The taste of adrenaline further increased his revived mood. Paying off his debt would be easier than he had thought it would be.

But that feeling didn’t last long.

Just as he was approaching the last few feet towards the ramp, something, or should he say, someone manifested itself right in front of his incoming path. Kenny's reflexes kicked in and he swerved just in time to avoid colliding with whoever it was all the while turning his head to get a good look at whoever completely tarnished his A-game.

“You,” Kenny said smartly right when his board missed the ramp completely, hitting the edge of the rooftop instead. His body vaulted backwards off of the building. His last memory of that moment had been the triumphant smirk of Damien Thorn before he broke his neck on the parking lot pavement and died.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, the music artists I listened to while writing most of this are Locust Toybox, Boards of Canada, and Moshimoss (all of which can be found on Spotify).
> 
>  
> 
> As for Chapter 3, I've written a few paragraphs so far. The character POV's won't solely be Cartman's gang and there's going to be a lot going on throughout the town, so that'll be fun to write. 
> 
> (Spoiler: Like I said before, I'm hoping to kick the Zombie Apocalypse up a notch by the end of the third chapter, so be prepared. It'll be a fun ride. )


	3. Preparing for the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nearing the end of Cartman and his group of friend's senior year, and all they want to do is graduate without being slowed down by any insane incidents South Park is prone to experience. When a viral infection begins to spread in South Park and, shortly, the world, any hope of graduating is shot down forever as society is just about destroyed. 
> 
> Anyone overtaken by the virus experiences a deterioration of the mind and body at an alarming rate. To make matters worse, it forces its host to attack, murder, and cannibalize on the living: human or animal.
> 
> All they can do now is flee from South Park indefinitely and survive. Whatever you do, keep calm and don't drink the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so much for all of the feedback both on here and on my tumblr account. Everything everyone said did wonders for my mood. I wish you could see the smiles I made after reading everything you wrote.
> 
> As for this chapter, I struggled so much at certain parts. I had to bounce around scenes so many times just so that I don't get writer's block. It's amazing how much can happen in a week's time for this and it was difficult to figure out how I wanted to structure this, so let me know if everything flows well. 
> 
> I'm also currently working on a new cover for the series. I'm about a third of the way finished with it. I'm hoping everyone will get a kick out of it :)
> 
> As usual, you can find any updates about this fic on my tumblr account here: [Binary-Echo](http://binary-echo.tumblr.com)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the song "How?" By The Neighborhood nor do I own the lyrics, I merely incorporated it into the dialogue.
> 
> Anyways, that's all I have, really. I hope all of you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. :)

It was Monday and already there was something wrong in the small town of South Park, granted, Tweek had no tangible proof that that was the case, but Tweek could feel it in his bones that something was off. Ever since Mrs. Lipschitz had shown the class the documentary “Viruses: a Threat to Humanity,” Tweek couldn’t get the thought of a pandemic out of his head. 

Because the spread of a virus was the equivalent to a ticking time bomb, Tweek felt that it was absolutely necessary that he be prepared for the destruction that was sure to follow once it went off. As far as he knew, a viral outbreak could be happening that very minute!

As a result, Tweek spent his entire weekend fueling this fear by marathoning YouTube videos centered around medicine. Every piece of information he had gained quelled some of the pent up anxiety that was almost overwhelming him.

By coming Monday, he felt like he was finally ready to go back into the disease-ridden world once again.

“What's with the getup, Tweek?" Clyde's booming voice broke Tweek's thought process, startling him and almost causing the twitchy blond to drop the thermos he was drinking from from spilling all over himself and all over the window of the school front entrance. That shook him up a little knowing that at the temperature his coffee was at, he would have received some nasty burns. If he had received some nasty burns, he would have had to go to the hospital which was chock full of sick people. If he had been surrounded by sick people, he would have risked contracting an infection—something he was very, very intent on avoiding. The last thing he needed was an infection, because if he contracted an infection, he might have to go to the emergency room. If he had to go the emergency room, he might get mixed up with another patient. Jesus Christ, if that were to happen, he’d probably join the corpses at the South Park cemetery due to a botched surgery he didn’t even need. He didn’t want to be dead! Being dead was too much pressure!

Clyde, at this point, was looking at him strangely, and Tweek couldn’t necessarily blame him. Besides his belated response and his churning, panicky thoughts, he might’ve looked at himself like he had grown a third head, too (which he didn’t. He checked).

Tweek was wearing his usual green turtleneck sweater and his blue skinny jeans which were haphazardly stuffed into his brown winter boots. His hair was messy and uncontrollable—which was normal for him, thank you for asking. What was probably deemed as “odd” were the pair of rubber gloves he was wearing, the six hand sanitizers that were hooked onto his belt, the surgical mask that was currently pulled down so that he could drink his coffee, and the new fanny pack strapped around his waist, which was filled with all sorts of medical equipment you’d see in your everyday first-aid kit. 

Some people might think of it as crazy, but Tweek saw it as a precaution. This was his best bet to fight off any pandemic that might be cultivating itself in South Park. They were the crazy ones, not him.

And, all the while, here Clyde was wearing his red South Park letterman jacket that he seemed to never take off. His pants were covered in a month’s worth of grass stains that were so deep no amount of stain remover could ever do it justice, and his sneakers looked like they had seen better days. Clyde was practically inviting some sort of sickness right onto his doorstep. When was the last time he had even washed those pants? Clyde may be clean enough for most people, but not for Tweek. He was particularly wary of his shoes.

“I-I should be asking you the same question, Clyde,” Tweek eyed him guardedly, making sure his friend was, at what he deemed to be, a safe distance away. He didn’t trust Clyde with the thought-process that was behind his newly purchased accessories. Who knows what Clyde could do with this information? At the very least, he’d wait to tell him and everyone else that asked until Craig was the first who got an explanation. Maybe he’d know what he should do, or at least, he wouldn’t judge Tweek for his actions. There was no else he trusted more in South Park than his best friend, Craig Tucker.

Clyde dropped the subject, most likely concluding that Tweek was just being Tweek, and focused on something that was past Tweek’s shoulder, much to Tweek’s relief, “Morning, Craig!”

Tweek quickly turned his head towards the source of the irritated grunting noise elicited from the newcomer that had just entered the door.

"C-Craig!” Tweek squeaked with surprise, suddenly feeling much more self-conscious about what he was wearing. Craig would understand, right? 

Tweek wasn’t expecting to see him until lunch time. He wasn’t prepared for this. He could already feel the pressure building up inside of him. _Just focus on other thoughts_. So Tweek did just that. He thought of how he had improved his computer’s firewall by tenfold last night, and how he had miraculously fallen asleep with the aid of Sóley’s latest album, and how he wouldn’t have to deal with Mrs. Lipschitz ever again after this month was over, and the fact that Craig was staring at him. Wait. _Shit!_ “H-hi, C-Craig!”

“What’s up?”

Craig’s brief question was asking much more than it seemed. Most people would take Craig’s words superficially and respond with a good ol’ “Nothing much”, Tweek, however, understood the deeper meaning behind the question: _What’s causing you to freak out like this?_ He knew this because he and Craig had some sort of unspoken understanding about one another’s thought processes. It was a lot harder than it sounded, to understand what’s going on in the other’s heads, but they had eventually managed to find the beat to each other’s unique rhythm.

If Tweek didn’t know any better, he’d think that they could read one another’s minds for the most part, but he knew that they couldn’t. He tested that out a long time ago just to make sure. You can never be too careful these days in the small town of South Park.

“That—that documentary is what’s— _nngh_ —up, man. I-I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s just a matter of time before something awful happens. We’re all going to die! The end is near!” Tweek started to pull his hair in fear and frustration as visions of death, disease, and Satan dancing around his gravestone like some fucked up mariachi band haunted his imagination.

“That’s why you’re wearing all that stuff?” Clyde interjected before Craig could say anything in response. Tweek practically jumped out of his skin, because, in all honesty, he had completely forgotten Clyde was there. “I thought it was because you heard about Frank Willis.”

“What about him?” Craig asked, feigning indifference.

“You haven’t heard? Everyone’s been talking about it since last night,” Clyde looked at the two in disbelief. Tweek felt that he shouldn’t be too surprised. Craig didn’t generally care about what was going on in the town of South Park and, frankly, Tweek already had enough on his plate to fret over. Adding gossip to the list wasn’t on his to-do list.

“Why else am I asking?” Craig asked rhetorically, sleep heavy beneath his eyes. It looked like he wasn’t the only one who obtained little sleep that weekend. Was his insomnia acting up again or was he, too, plagued by bizarre dreams?

“I dunno, Craig. Half of the time I’m not even paying attention to what anyone’s saying. Anyways, Red told Bebe who told me that Frank Willis was attacked on Friday night. They said that his attackers hit him with his own jug of milk—“ 

“Jesus f-fucking Christ!” Tweek practically screeched, pulling at his hair all-the-while. Just the thought of some monster not having even the decency to use its own jug of milk horrified Tweek to no end.

“Not only that, but when Willis came to, he apparently attacked the paramedics. Bit every person he saw,” Clyde looked giddy telling this information, being the gossiper that he is, but there was also an undertone of disbelief in the words he was saying, which was ridiculous considering how all of this sounded completely legit to Tweek. How could Clyde be so calm when Willis’s attackers were still roaming the streets? They could go after him next for all he knows. And the biting? Don’t get Tweek started on that. In fact, he probably shouldn’t, it was way too early in the morning to worry about that specific detail.

“Isn’t this the same Red that believed you can contract AIDs by sitting on a public toilet?” Craig looked at Clyde like he was completely off his rocker.

“Well, yeah,” Clyde responded dumbly.

“Just double checking.”

Now that Tweek thought about it, that was a good point, granted, who's to say that this time she wasn’t right?

"C-can we talk about something else? Please?" Tweek pouted at the two before taking a brief sip of his coffee in order to help calm his nerves.

“Red Racer was on last night,” Craig began, walking backwards lazily towards his locker so that he could face him and Clyde as they followed him. Tweek’s large almond eyes looked on at him with worry. He was mentally prepared to break Craig’s fall in case he tripped over his own two feet or ran into somebody. He didn’t want Craig to break his neck, after all. 

“Aw Craig, don’t talk about that kind of stuff when they’re girls around. How can a man pick up chicks when all his friend ever does is go on about the latest Red Racer episode,” Clyde held out his hands in despair. 

Tweek let out a silent chuckle, allowing himself to push aside some of the dark emotions that were looming at the edge of his thoughts. Clyde was ridiculous sometimes.

“It’s probably not me that’s causing you trouble,” Craig flipped off Clyde offhandedly as he said that. It was moments like these that Tweek enjoyed. Moments of routine and familiarity. Not something new and threatening like Frank Willis’s assault or a potential disease that could be hiding in front of everyone’s eyes.

“Craig, don’t you dare say what I think you’re going to say,” Clyde clutched at his chest in mock horror.

“You’re the cause,” a very faint and brief smile flittered across Craig’s face before it resumed its usual bored look. He flipped Clyde off again for good measure as soon as he came to a halt.

“You wound me,” Clyde leaned against his locker dramatically. “I might never recover.”

“It’d be doing us a favor,” Craig offhandedly said while he dialed his locker combination. Tweek soon followed suit, wiping off the knob using a disinfectant cloth he pulled out from his fanny pack. Clyde gave him a look that just screamed _really?_ Tweek bet he wouldn’t be so judgmental once he realized that Tweek might have killed the bacteria that would have otherwise killed all of South Park’s residents.

As Clyde and Craig—well, Clyde, argued about Craig’s lack of positive support, Tweek tried his best to focus on the sounds of their conversation rather than the coughs of his schoolmates. 

Their sniffles. Their sneezes.  
Their haggard breaths.

Sounds that seemed to ring in Tweek’s ears. Had they been coughing this the entire time, or was he too paranoid to even notice what was right in front of his face? If that were the case, he may as well be dead already. The thermos he held in his hand shook as he brought it to his trembling lips. His fears were catching up to him, making it that much more difficult to open his locker. First he kept overshooting the combination’s turning points and then he flat out forgot the numbers he was supposed to dial. 

He could have sworn he heard someone speak German nearby him.

“Move,” a light shove pulled Tweek out of his paranoid thoughts and moved him away from his locker door. Craig promptly dialed Tweek’s locker combination for him. He hoped that Craig was the only one who realized exactly how squeamish he was at the moment. Tweek didn’t want to be more in the center of attention than he already was, who knows what someone would do if they found out just how on the edge of his seat he was. 

The locker door opened without a hitch. “T-thanks, Craig,” Tweek gave him a brief smile before turning to his locker. In a split second, he found himself trying to organize his things as quickly as possible. His father once warned him that the longer you kept a locker door open, the more of a chance you had to be shoved in it. Tweek didn’t want to get trapped in a locker. He was claustrophobic for God’s sake! 

Used to this, Craig patiently waited for Tweek while Clyde waved at someone in the distance. Tweek hoped it wasn’t someone dangerous. Jesus Christ, what if it was? That thought just made him move all that much faster. 

“Hey, guys.” Tweek slammed his locker door shut in a spur of panic, turned himself around as quick as a speeding bullet, and backed himself right up against the locker doors. He relaxed as soon he realized that it was just Token. Craig snorted right next to him. He was no doubt amused by his panic. Sadistic bastard. 

“Sorry, Tweek. I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” Token’s apology was genuine. He was one of the few people who actually gave a shit about people’s feelings in this town.

“It-it’s okay. Just a bit— _nngh_ —jumpier than usual,” Tweek confessed.

“I can see that. What’s going on?”

“T-that’s confidential,” Tweek stuttered nervously, glancing at Craig. He still had yet to talk it over with him.

Tweek wasn’t particularly anxious about the fact that Clyde had accidentally learned about his latest paranoia. In fact, Tweek doubted any sane government agency would hire Clyde or coerce information from him, but Token, on the other hand, was a smart man. He’d be valuable to any secret organization that would want to assassinate or kidnap Tweek for simply realizing that a pathogen was in the midst of spreading.

He couldn’t help but think this. Distrust had been ingrained in him ever since he was young. It didn’t help that past experiences simply reinforced his fears rather than diminish them. It shouldn’t be surprising, though, he did grow up in South Park, after all.

“He’s freaking out over some silly documentary we saw in biology class,” Clyde explained without missing a beat.

 _Dammit, Clyde!_ Him and his stupid mouth. Of course the gossiper would immediately tell his best friend. _Stupid. Stupid Stupid!_ “He-he’s lying! That’s not why I’m— _gah_ —freaking out!” Hopefully his lie would throw him off the trail. “I—um—I’m just getting in the spirit of s-spring cleaning.” _All right, now hold that smile._ He gave them all a forced grin before he ruined it by automatically pulling up his mask once he heard somebody cough nearby him.

None of them looked convinced.

“If that’s what you’re freaking out about—not saying that that’s what it is,” Token held up his hands when Tweek sent him a panicked expression, “you don’t have to worry, South Park’s not in danger of having any sort of disease outbreak.”

Tweek wasn’t sure whether or not he should believe him.

“Token’s right, Tweek. No disease would waste its time in this hellhole,” Craig bluntly stated.

“Of course he’s right! He’s Token, our main man, our top dog, the big cheese, the whiz kid, the—“

“Clyde, if you don’t stop right there, I’m going to shove your head in my locker,” Craig poised his locker door open threateningly. 

And just like that, Tweek’s anxiety levels plummeted. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was all just in his head. 

**++++**

Craig didn’t care much for lunch. It was probably because it involved being around people, and he didn’t like a lot of people. He wasn’t entirely sure if it had something to do with him being a Tucker or the fact that almost everybody in this town were complete morons. It was probably a combination of the two.

It seemed as if South Park always had some shit storm going on. Craig tried his best to avoid it, but he always seemed to get caught in the backlash of it. If he didn’t get roped into people’s lives anymore for the rest of his life, he’d be so happy. The only people he could really stand were Token, Tweek, and Clyde, granted, Clyde had his days.

They all hadn’t changed too much, if Craig really thought about it. Sure, most of them had gotten taller, albeit Tweek was about the size of a midget compared to Craig’s giant-like stature, who was about six feet tall, and pretty much everyone else, which isn’t surprising since he’s like 5 foot three, but their personalities generally stayed the same. 

It was a good thing, too. Craig hated change. He liked things nice and boring. He wouldn’t be a Tucker if he didn’t. He still wore the exact same color-coding he did as a kid: a blue chullo, a long-sleeved blue shirt, dark purple jeans, and a pair of converse. Simple. Easy. Timeless. 

What had changed, however, was their relationship with Cartman and his gang of nitwits.

No one remembered how it exactly started. It was only later that everyone decided that it was instigated by something Cartman did, but, either way, the war between the sophomores was ruthless. Dozens of causalities were on either side in the form of busted lips and bruised egos. All of tenth grade was divided. One was forced to either side with Craig, an intelligent and just leader who was armed with a troop of reliable and noble men and women, or Cartman, a stupid, stuck-up fat leader who was armed with bumbling idiots that could barely dress in the morning.

This division had been occurring for weeks, and it wasn’t until the Battle of King’s Hill that the war finally ended. In the midst of chaos and destruction, the great leader’s trusted black knight hooked up with the leading lady of their enemy which forced all conflict to come to a halt. The two, hand in hand, singlehandedly stopped the greatest war since the Stick of Truth. As a result, a relatively stable peace had been maintained ever since. _End scene._

Even though Wendy and Token acted as the instigators of peace, it didn’t mean that Craig was suddenly friends with the people he had hated for years. But he couldn’t do much other than tolerate Cartman and his friends, especially when he had no choice but to eat lunch with them.

“C-Craig, can I talk to, to you?” Tweek pulled Craig out of his stupor with his nervous words.

After letting a lunch lady fill a section of his tray with tator tots, Craig turned his full attention towards Tweek. With a simple glance, Craig could immediately tell what Tweek was going to ask him. Why? It was because Tweek was extremely predictable. Most people just didn’t realize how predictable Tweek was. That predictability was something Craig loved about Tweek: Tweek was almost as boring as himself.

“A-are you sure that there’s no virus going around, because there’s s-sick people everywhere, man! Everywhere I turn there’s someone— _ngh_ —coughing. It’s getting to my, to my head. Maybe that documentary was right, maybe— _gah_ —maybe there really is s-something awful—“

Craig interrupted him, “You’re going to make yourself sick if you keep going on like that.” Yes Craig had noticed the unusual amount of people sick with what looked like the flu in the building, but, it wasn’t to the point that it should be his or Tweek’s concern.

“S-sorry, Craig. It’s just, I can’t, I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Craig understood that it was hard, if not impossible, for Tweek to simply push aside any qualms he may have, especially when his mind kept pointing out any potential evidence that would confirm his suspicions. 

“I—I don’t know who to trust. Some secret organization might kidnap me again for just realizing that something’s up, man. Anyone can be their in— _ngh_ —informer,” Tweek narrowed his eyes at the woman who swiped his school ID, which paid for his meal, and added underneath his breath, “Even the lunch ladies.”

The woman gave Tweek a strange look after hearing this acknowledgement. Craig took the liberty of flipping her off for him.

“You can trust me, Clyde, Token, and Ruby. The rest can go fuck themselves,” Craig simply told Tweek. 

Tweek didn’t need to be told that his thoughts were ridiculous, or that he could trust anyone. It would do more harm than good. For one, it was South Park. Despite Tweek being wrong more often than not, there was still always the possibility that he was onto something. And two, besides his group of friends and his sister, Ruby, Craig didn’t trust anyone in this town anyways. Why should he lie to Tweek about who he can trust? Blatant honesty was always the best option. 

He added, “Try not to obsess over this too much, you’ll give yourself an aneurism.”

“Jesus Christ! An aneurism? R-really, Craig?” Tweek pouted, which Craig found endearing.

As they neared the lunchroom table they frequented, located nearby the entrance to the cafeteria, they heard the distinct sound of two squabbling children, and by children he meant Wendy and Cartman. Craig didn’t care to pay too much attention to whatever the hell they were arguing about this time. If neither Wendy nor Kyle were arguing with Cartman, somebody else was.

Craig and Tweek took their usual places at the table on the side facing the lunchroom door. They typically shared the bench with Clyde, Token, and Wendy; whereas, Butters, Kenny—who seemed to be missing, Kyle, Stan, and Cartman sat on the other side respectively.

Craig spent the first minute examining his food, determining whether or not it was edible enough to eat. He may be apathetic about almost everything, but that didn’t mean he wanted to eat something that was equivalent to slop. He had standards, after all. It seemed as if Tweek had the same idea as he dug through his salad with the scrutiny of a housecat. Luckily for Craig, his food, for the most part, looked okay enough to eat. For the next few minutes, Craig was eating his slice of pizza with his usual sense of whatever.

“—And what about Frank Willis? Did you guys have anything to do with that?” The question posed by Wendy drew Craig out of his usual state of ignoring any conversations held between Cartman and another person. There was that name again. It was strange to think that it was just a few days ago that Craig was checking out Frank Willis a jug of milk, all nine of them. Craig didn’t like to get involved in the affairs of others, which explained his lack of interest concerning Willis’s state of health. If something wrong was going on and it didn’t necessarily concern him, he mentally shut down. He didn’t want to inadvertently get dragged into the mess.

When Clyde decided to bring up the ridiculous notion that someone had beaten Frank Willis with one of his jugs of milk and, coupled with the whole biting thing, Craig had immediately called bullshit solely because it was coming from Clyde. Clyde was as reliable as Fox News was credible. If Wendy, however, thought it was true, then it most likely was. She wasn’t the type to believe in idle gossip, unlike some people around here.

“No, of course not, Wendy. All we did Friday night was watch a couple of movies—“

“And get popcorn,” Kyle quickly interjected, glancing briefly in Craig’s general direction. Craig raised a brow at the redhead. They were awfully nervous. _Frank Willis, huh?_

“And that’s all you did? You didn’t leave the house for anything else? Nothing at all?” Craig noticed Stan pointedly avoiding Wendy’s searing gaze.

“That’s what we’ve been telling you, Wendy. Just because something bad happened in South Park doesn’t mean we have something to do with it,” Cartman huffed irritably.

“Yes, it does.” Cartman glared in Craig’s general direction. Craig merely shrugged his shoulders before taking a bite of his pizza. “I’m not wrong.”

“We're telling you, we have nothing to do with it this time,” Stan insisted, his voice slightly high strung.

“Can we talk about something else, please,” Clyde whined. Craig wasn’t surprised. Clyde didn’t like talking about the same topic for more than a minute or two. Sometimes, Craig sympathized with him.

Everyone, as expected, ignored Clyde. Token looked directly at Butters and asked him, “Is what they’re saying true, Butters?”

Butters, who had been keeping quietly to himself up until this point, looked up, his eyes red rimmed and filled with worry. “I’m sorry, fellas. What are we talkin’ about?”

“Hey, dude, are you okay?” Token looked at him worriedly, which was understandable. This was different. Craig had rarely, if ever, seen Butters look this fucked up. Usually Clyde was the one blubbering about something or other, not Butters. Something was definitely wrong.

Butters rubbed his eyes with one of his sleeves, “S-sorry ta worry everyone. It’s just my d-dad’s been missing since last night.” 

A loud clanging noise sounded as Tweek dropped the fork he was holding, his eyes wide and terrified. This wasn’t good.

“Woah, wait. Are you serious?” Kyle asked Butters with concern. The others shared the same expression. Surely they were kidding. Somebody from Cartman’s group had to have noticed that something was wrong with Butters, or was Kenny the only one that cared enough to notice? Where was he even?

“Yeah. Ya know how I mentioned on Saturday that he got s-sick? He could barely get out of bed yesterday. We were worried that we needed ta get him ta the h-hospital, especially cuz his arms started scabbin’ up for whatever reason, and then he tried ta b-bite everybody that got near him, and then mom got b-bit by him when she tried ta calm him down, and, after talkin’ it out, we decided we should bring him ta the h-hospital, so we left the room for a few minutes ta pack some things. By the time we got back, he was g-gone. Officer Barbrady says they can’t do nothin’ until twenty-four hours have passed. I’m, I’m scared, fellas,” Butters looked at everyone with a hopeless expression. He then turned his attention towards Cartman, Kyle, and Stan and asked them, “Have any of you fellas seen Kenny? I really want ta t-talk to him, but I haven’t seen him all day.”

Cartman ran a hand through his hair, “Yeah, uh, guys, about that… Kinny sort of died on Saturday.”

“What the fuck?” 

“Who killed Kenny?”

“You Bastard!”

“’Ey, it’s not my fault he launched himself off the side of a building and broke his neck!”

“Kenny’s d-dead?” Butters looked like he was about to break down.

“I should hope so. His spine snapped in half.” 

Butters, at this point, started bawling.

“Butters’ dad just disappeared,” Kyle hissed. “Was it really necessary to add that, you sick fuck?” Stan tugged on his sleeve, trying to get him to quiet down so that they didn’t draw any more attention than they already were.

“What? It’s not like this hasn’t happened before!” 

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Enough!” Wendy shouted, causing everyone at the table to stop in their tracks. “We don’t need to traumatize Butters any further by acting like a bunch of blockheads. Now sit down.” Craig forgot just how intimidating Wendy could be when she felt like it. She turned her attention towards Butters and put his hands in hers, saying softly, “I am so sorry, Butters.”

Butters barely managed a weak smile, tears streaming from his eyes, “T-thanks, Wendy.”

And then Tweek exploded: “J-Jesus Christ! You’re all just going to i-ignore it all? First F-Frank Willis and, and now Butter’s dad? People everywhere are getting sick, a-and the biting! That documentary was right! We’re all going to die! I knew, I knew I shouldn’t have let you guys convince me otherwise. You’re all working for them, too, aren’t you?”

“What the hell is he on about?” Kyle tried to murmur quietly to Stan, but failed miserably.

“He thinks that there’s some fatal disease spreading around town,” Clyde answered off-handedly.

“It’s probably just his disorder talking. You know how Tweeker gets,” Cartman waved his finger around in circles next to his head.

Craig clenched his fists in anger. Now they were all starting to piss Craig off. 

“W-what? No, it’s not! I’m, I’m telling you, t-there’s something not right going on with this flu thing!” Tweek pleaded with everyone at the table, but what Cartman had said caused almost everybody to doubt the possibility of what Tweek was saying as true. “I-I know that I’ve been diagnosed with delusional disorder, but that’s no excuse to ignore the facts. This sickness, Frank Willis and Butters’ dad biting everyone, people speaking German. For God’s sake, I’m not talking crazy here! You— _gah_ —you know I _don’t_ lie!” Tweek looked at everyone desperately. His hands pulled at his hair in a fit of frustration.

“Sorry, Tweek, I hate to say this, but Cartman might be right. What happened with Frank Willis and what happened with Butters’ dad has to be a coincidence. What you’re saying _sounds_ ridiculous. There’s no conspiracy here,” Kyle tried to calm Tweek down, but this only made Tweek more upset.

“People speaking German?” Stan gave him a look that spoke volumes. “South Park doesn’t even _teach_ German.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as a virus that could make someone learn a new language,” Token muttered loudly to himself. 

“What you’re saying sounds like the plot of some bad horror movie,” Clyde added.

“I-I can’t believe you guys. Fine. K-keep deluding yourselves for all I— _ngh_ —care,” Tweek angrily grabbed his tray and thermos and walked away from all of them.

“I’m telling you guys, Tweek’s losing it.” 

He really couldn’t believe how stupid they were all being. Craig stood up at that, “Even if you think what he’s saying is stupid doesn’t mean he’s not onto something. How many times have you been told you were crazy for something South Park caused?” He flipped them all off long and hard before he abandoned his tray and jogged after Tweek. If anyone believed what Tweek was saying was true, it was Craig. 

Something was rotten in South Park.

**++++**

Phillip was lonely. 

One would think that ten years of alienation and ridicule would desensitize Phillip from ever feeling that emotion, but that wasn’t the case. In fact, because he once had a friend, no matter how brief and fragile their friendship may have been, this long-term ostracism made it all the more unbearable.

Everyone was afraid of becoming his friend. Wendy, Tweek, and Butters may be nice to him once in a while, but they would never risk their reputations by associating with him further than the occasional ‘hello.’

The relentless bullying may have deteriorated over the years, but the harsh words that his peers said to him hardly faded away. Sure, most of them were off-hand comments or afterthoughts that they needed to get off their chests rather than active targeting, but that did little to make it hurt any less. At least Phillip could take a little solace in the fact that each awful word spoken to him let loose some of the built-up aggression his peers were feeling at the time. It made them happy.

On the outside Phillip remained his usual perky self, never letting anything get him down, but on the inside, it hurt, and when it hurt, Phillip ran.

Phillip always found something calming about running. Maybe it was the adrenaline coursing through his veins, maybe it was the smothered pride that forced its way to the surface eliciting a genuine smile on his face because he knew that he was the fastest kid in his school, or maybe it simply was because it was the most alive he ever felt.

After school on days when track and field was canceled, such as today since the coach failed to show up, Phillip would go on a jog with no particular destination in mind. 

Not wanting to ruin his normal dress clothes, he had changed into a pair of black jogging shorts, a red t-shirt, a pair of red and white striped socks, your typical white sneakers, and three red sweatbands: two on his wrist and one on his forehead.

Running through the streets of South Park, Phillip was ready to take on the world, but the world did not necessarily include the son of Satan.

Standing not even twenty feet away from him was a ghost of his childhood. Phillip felt like he should be surprised, he really did, but for some reason, all he could feel was a sort of giddiness. He hadn’t seen him this close for so long, and it felt like Damien hadn’t changed at all. 

Damien still wore all black: black shoes, black pants, a black turtleneck, and his short black hair still retained its glossy sheen. His eyes were cold and piercing. His skin pale and sickly looking. His facial features were sharp but not unattractive. Most of all, he looked mean, but not unapproachable. It was clear that he still had not taken a notice of Phillip.

The question remained: did Phillip want to approach him?

Damien had been the one to revoke their friendship. He had turned Phillip into a human firecracker, after all, but it was all so that Damien could gain the approval of all of their cruel classmates. Phillip understood why Damien had done such a thing, he didn’t necessarily approve of the means he used to try to win the hearts of everyone, but he at least understood why. Phillip wasn’t a hateful person, nor was he one to hold grudges. It just wasn’t in his nature. Did that mean he forgave him? Yes, he guessed that it did. 

He didn’t know what Damien was doing outside of the movie theater in South Park, but, for whatever reason, the cancellation of his Track and Field meet had led him to Damien. He couldn’t help but feel like that meant something. 

Phillip jogged towards Damien, who still remained oblivious to his presence, and greeted him cheerfully, “Wotcher?”

At those words, the calm atmosphere surrounding Damien dissipated, every technological item within ten feet of the two started to flicker and die, and all the nearby animals, including the overly-friendly squirrel that liked to throw nuts at Phillip when he wasn’t looking, ran off into the distance. All in all, Damien didn’t look all too happy to hear his voice. Hopefully this wasn’t a cock-up.

“What?” It was strange hearing Damien after so many years. Sure Phillip had seen the occasional glimpse of Damien, but he never had the chance to say anything to him much less get a good look at him. He no longer sounded like an angry munchkin, instead, his voice had deepened and he sounded just as mean as he looked.

Phillip ignored the hostility in Damien’s voice, knowing full well that he was a lot more tolerant of Phillip’s company than he sounded and he hoped it still rang true. “Just asking how you’ve been, mate. It’s been awhile since we last talked. You still helping your dad with total damnation and what not?”

Damien’s steel gaze seemed to pierce right through Phillip, his clear annoyance not wavering in the slightest in response to the false smile Phillip offered him. Damien’s father must still be a rather sensitive topic. He best avoid that. He didn’t want to make Damien feel threatened by his chit-chatter.

“Anyways, what are you doing in South Park? Been strange not having you around. Did you hear about—“

Damien started to walk away from Phillip midsentence, causing Phillip to stop short. Instinct overtook his next course of actions as he found himself trailing after Damien’s quickly retreating form. 

It wasn’t too difficult to catch up with him. What with Phillip’s stamina, speed, and his lucky pair of running shoes, it shouldn’t be all too surprising that Phillip could practically run laps around Damien if he wanted to. He followed him for a few blocks with no problem, but when Phillip turned around a corner, Damien was nowhere to be found. Confused, Phillip sighed before he begrudgingly returned to his original destinationless route.

So he couldn’t keep up with Damien, so what? What did he necessarily expect out of it, anyways? That Damien would adopt their previously abandoned friendship? Well yes, actually, that was exactly what Phillip was hoping for in the long run. He was well aware that that was a naïve thought, but a bloke could dream.

All Phillip was made up of were dreams.

His steps fell into a steady rhythm as his headspace caste away any worrying thought and then, gradually, replaced them with a thought of serenity. All he could do was put one foot in front of the other and move on. That was what he’d done his whole life, and, for the most part, it worked out well for him.

Phillip looked up. The trees were coated with a thin layer of frost which was the last remnant of winter’s siege. Spring was funny in that sense: it never quite came. Winter always seemed to intrude every season here in South Park, except for summer, but the hot temperatures were almost too much for Phillip to handle.

A sparrow flew by him. He could hear some crickets in the distance. It’s been awhile since he had heard such a sound.

A man limped by him. Poor lad. Hopefully he was alright.

Phillip passed by some of his classmates. He’d better wave to them. He didn’t want them thinking that he was flat-out ignoring them. He didn’t want to be considered rude. 

No response. Well, no matter. Maybe they didn’t see him.

Minutes passed by. The scenery hadn’t changed all too much. He still saw the occasional passerby, many of whom were either sick or hurt, but other than that there was nothing that stood out to him; the trees were still coated with frost, the crickets still shed their cries of want, and everyone still ignored him. It wasn’t until he started to cross the old, crumbling bridge that he decided to slow down to a stop. 

The South Platte River ran alongside the small town of South Park. Its current was strong and its riverbed was filled with a lot of jagged rocks, which was why he had never seen anyone play nearby the river in his youth. Kenny might have played there once, long ago, but, for some reason, that memory was rather jumbled and hazy.

_No matter._

Phillip leaned against the stone railing, careful to not put so much weight on it that it snapped in two. No doubt that would be a disaster if that were to occur. His bright blue eyes scanned the horizon, reveling in the scenery. Without many friends to distract him, Phillip always felt like he better appreciated what was going on in the world around him.

“I could use a fag,” Phillip murmured as he grabbed a pack a cigarettes from his front right pocket. After taking a brief moment to choose one, he put the pack back into his pocket and searched his left pocket for his lighter. “Oh, bugger.” He must have left it at home. He hung his head over the edge of the railing and sighed. Today felt like it was just not his day: first he lost track of Damien and now he forgot his lighter. Phillip rubbed his hand across his face. Hopefully things will look up for him, soon.

Upon pulling himself out of his thoughts, his gaze mindlessly followed the path of the river.

The South Platte River was the last place he would have expected to see Damien Thorne just after losing him. With a new burst of determination, Phillip perched his cigarette in between his teeth and ran as quickly as he could along the side of the river before Damien had the chance to react. 

“Damien, I’ve been looking all over the place for you. What are you doing?” Phillip stopped right in front of Damien, his cigarette almost touching Damien’s check. Although Phillip was rather tall, standing at a lanky five feet ten inches, Damien stood a few inches taller. If Phillip wasn’t so resolved to get Damien to talk to him, he’d no doubt be cowering with fear, because Damien was damn intimidating this close up.

  


“Pip, leave. This is none of your business,” Damien growled, his jagged teeth clenching with anger. 

Something felt wrong. Underneath the cold exterior, Damien looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. What was his old friend up to exactly? “Bullocks. I have every right to be here seeing as I still live here. What are you doing?”

Damien looked like he was getting annoyed. He changed his stance so that he looked bigger, more intimidating. His eyes narrowed, and his sharp nose scrunched up with anger. “Pip. Leave.”

Normally Phillip would back down. Fighting would go against everything he stood for, seeing as he was a pacifist, but something stirred in Phillip when he looked at Damien at this exact moment. He didn’t know what it was. It may have been due to their history. It may have been some unresolved feelings Damien had left him with, but it certainly wasn’t courage. In fact, Phillip would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared, but Damien was here, and even though there was the risk that he could turn him into a human firecracker all over again, he knew that the person standing in front of him wouldn’t hurt him. Much. 

Swallowing any remaining thoughts for how much of a bad idea this was, he stared straight into Damien’s eyes and flat out told him with a small wavering voice, “Damien, you’re a real nutter. You know that?” 

Phillip felt so much regret in that next instant. A fire lit up in Damien’s eyes and the air surrounding him seemed to grow hotter. His expression twisted further into something so foul that it seemed almost inhuman. Dark music echoed in the background. _Rectus Dominus._ Phillip remembered that tune well. 

Looming over the now trembling Phillip, Damien opened his mouth and spat, “Pip, don’t you remember who I am? I’m the son of Satan. I’m from the seventh layer of Hell. Once you see me, you know that the end is near! My father will rule you all and send everyone into eternal damnation. I will—“ His deep voice cracked for a split second here, reminding Phillip so much of the kid Damien used to be. 

The dramatics Damien was building up deteriorated, and all the terror Phillip had felt disappeared with it. A chuckle escaped Phillip as Damien tried to salvage what effect he had already lost, “I—ahem—I will…uh... unleash unimaginable pain and…uh… horror. Quit laughing! I’m the son of Satan. You’re supposed to fear me!” As Phillip was bent over, laughing his arse off, Damien glared at him hotly, folding his arms not unlike a child.

“What the Hell are you even wearing?” Damien scoffed as he turned away, continuing down the path he was previously taking before Pip had interrupted him.

Wiping off the tears of laughter from his eyes, he soon trailed after Damien while responding with: “Running clothes. Would you mind giving me a light? I could really go for a smoke.”

**++++**

One of the worst problems about dying was not the fact that Kenny lost a few days from his timeline, or the fact that no one seemed to remember his death—except for Cartman, but he didn’t really count—, or even the fact that dying really fucking hurt. No, it was the fact that he had to come up with a reasonable excuse for school and any other important events he missed because no one remembered why he was absent in the first place.

This had become so much of a problem that Kenny had resorted to taking some musty hat he found in a shady alley and filling it with dozens of bits of paper. Written on each bit of paper, he painstakingly wrote out an explanation for his absence. Every time he died, he would simply pull out a piece of paper from the hat until something best matched the occasion. The system had worked for him, for the most part, for years now, but even still it couldn’t cover everything in life.

More often than not, he was given a few days’ worth of detention because of his unexcused absences, which was awful considering how hard he was working to obtain a scholarship. He really needed that money to go to college, and, with so many unexcused absences on his record, it was making it that much harder to get what he needed. He didn’t want to end up like his father.

With Monday long since gone, Kenny was left to pick up the pieces on Tuesday. Lunch was approaching and Kenny desperately wanted to talk to Butters. He felt awful for skipping out on Sunday without any explanation, but, right when he was given the opportunity after class last hour, his teacher interrupted them and insisted on talking to Kenny. This prevented Kenny from finishing their discussion, and he wouldn’t be able to talk to him until after his next class: computer programming.

Kenny would have told Damien to rot in Hell the next time he saw him, but Damien kind of already was, so it’d be more redundant for him to say that than anything else. Damien would probably laugh his ass off if he had actually told him to rot in Hell rather than get offended.

If one couldn’t tell, Kenny and Damien weren’t exactly on the best of terms. They were tolerant of one another more than anything else. If Damien wasn’t so hell-bent on following his father’s footsteps and unleashing death and destruction wherever he went, Kenny could imagine that they could have been great friends. 

Kenny’s thoughts were so far from his computer programming class that he had barely gotten any work done that day, if any at all. He had more important problems to deal with: the son of Satan’s sudden appearance, his own murder, and cute boys.

The fate of South Park could be resting upon his shoulders for all he knew. 

Luckily for him, the bell finally rang. Lunch-time. The entire room took that as a signal to bum rush out of the computer lab. The crowd near the front door looked practically suffocating as everyone pushed their way out, including their teacher. Not wanting to get crushed by the crowd, Kenny decided to hang back for a moment or two. He didn’t want to die again so soon, especially when he was finally free to talk to his friends about what happened that weekend. But, just as he finished gathering his things and was ready to get the fuck outta dodge, a giant crash made him stop right in his tracks.

_Tweek._

Kenny had two options left at this point: ignore the crash and go on his merry way, but risk the wrath of Craig’s death glare once he found out Tweek needed help but Kenny did nothing about it, or help Tweek get his shit together, earn himself a few karma points, but ultimately be late for lunch. 

In the end, Kenny felt obligated to see what was wrong with Tweek this time. He blamed his hero-complex.

Kenny looked around the room, almost missing Tweek’s small form, half of which was wedged underneath his desk for whatever reason. “Lose something?” Kenny asked, immediately cringing when Tweek hit his head against the desk. He did not mean for that to happen, but he probably should have seen that coming.

“ _Gah!_ I swear it w-wasn’t me!” Tweek threw out his hands defensively as soon as he emerged from underneath the desk. Hanging loosely off of Tweek’s face was what appeared to be a surgical mask, revealing his panicked expression. 

“Woah, Tweek, calm your tits. It’s just me,” Kenny held his hands up in order to seem as nonthreatening as possible.

Upon realizing exactly who it was, Tweek looked extremely embarrassed, and really, who could blame him? The kid was kind of a spaz, after all. “Sorry, Kenny. I thought you were Mr.— _ngh_ —Mr. D-Dewitz,” Tweek ducked underneath the desk for a moment before coming out with a few things in his hands. “I-I dropped my headphones underneath my desk and I found t-this lying next to, to it.” He handed Kenny the remains of a cigarette butt.

 _Strange_. As far as Kenny knew, no one smoked in the computer lab. The Goths usually frequented the abandoned classroom near the rear of the school building, and everyone else usually hung outside the back door to smoke. He glanced up at Tweek and held out his hand, silently asking him to hand it over, which he did. He examined the cigarette butt closely, noticing the brand name written in a small, fine print: _Lambert and Butler._

For some reason, this cigarette butt felt important, and he couldn’t brush off the feeling that this had something to do with Damien. Call him crazy, but Kenny was going to keep this cigarette butt on hand until he could figure out this puzzle whether as Kenny or as the elusive Mysterion. 

“W-what are you doing?” Tweek looked absolutely flabbergasted when Kenny put the cigarette butt in the front pocket of his ratty jeans.

“Exactly what it looks like,” Kenny offered his hand, which Tweek hesitantly took. _Rubber gloves?_ Well that was certainly new.

Kenny grabbed his textbook and jerked his head towards the door, “We should probably get going. We don’t want to keep Craig waiting too long.” He gave him a wink, after which Kenny began to make his way towards the door at a pace slow enough that, once Tweek’s thoughts caught up with the present, he’d be able to catch up.

“So, where were you, y-yesterday? You weren’t s-sick, were you?” Tweek asked him hesitantly, his hands unconsciously tugging his blond hair. 

Kenny glanced at Tweek’s odd appearance. _Huh, so that’s why he’s dressed like that._ He spoke, “Nah son. It was a skateboard incident. I’ll go more in depth about it later at lunch. You don’t need to stop by your locker or anything, right?”

“N-no. Why? Is something waiting for me there? A-are you planning on ambushing me? _Gah!_ You’re one of them, aren’t you?!”

Kenny shook his head, “No, just wondering if we’re going to head to lunch together or not.” Kenny was anxious to talk to the others, primarily Butters, and, if Tweek needed to stop by his locker, he was sure Tweek would be fine with him not waiting around for him.

“Makes sense,” Tweek said quietly to himself. And that was essentially the end of their conversation. Tweek might be loud, but he wasn’t known to really talk all too much. It wasn’t surprising considering how preoccupied he seemed to be with his own thoughts. He was more of a thinker than someone who engaged largely in conversation, which Kenny didn’t mind. It left more room for him to think, as well. 

As they walked down the long hallway that led directly to the cafeteria, he noticed something bizarre in the behaviors of those around him. There was a considerable amount of people who were lethargic, others were considerably more aggressive than usual. Jimmy was having more trouble walking than usual, and Lola was crying without her even realizing it. Kenny wasn’t entirely sure why they were acting so oddly. The only plausible explanation he could come up with was that each and every person was sick with the flu, at least, that was his theory until he overheard Red and Bebe’s conversation.

“I heard that Damien was back in South Park,” Red began, pulling a strand of her red hair behind her ear.

“That can’t be. We haven’t seen him since third grade,” Bebe looked at her skeptically.

“It’s true. Pip was with him. Don’t know why anyone would want to hang out with a loser like him, but he was there.”

“Hey, Red. Hate to interrupt you, but did you say Damien was back?” Of course, Kenny already knew this, but she didn’t know that.

“Yeah. Apparently Francis saw him nearby the school on Saturday and, on Monday, he was seen again with Pip. Can you believe that? No _one’s_ seen with that guy. It’s socially suicidal. Only an idiot would do that.”

“And to think Damien went through all that effort to win our hearts only to throw it all away. Why would he even do that?” Bebe shook her head in bewilderment. 

They were right. It made little sense for Damien to return to South Park solely because of Pip. It’d be defeating the groundwork he had set up so long ago. So, why did Damien return? What part did Pip play in it all? There was only one option left for Kenny, and that was to ask Pip himself, but the question remained: when should he do it?

“Thanks. If you guys need anything, just ask,” Kenny winked at them before heading off, swaying those hips like the cocky motherfucker he was. He had a nice ass. He knew it. They knew it, so why not?

Resuming his previous route of destination, he saw Tweek standing nervously a few feet away from the cafeteria. “Tweek, what’s up?”

“I—um, I think I’m going to head to the library to eat lunch,” Tweek attempted to smile, but it came out all wrong. Something was off. 

“Do you want me to let Craig know where you’re heading?” Tweek nodded before hightailing it out of there. Why the library? What was he avoiding? His best bet was to talk to Craig about the matter, be it now or later. It was just his luck that, when Kenny entered the lunch line, Craig was directly ahead of him getting a glop of today’s special.

“Craig, just the person I was looking for.”

“What?” Craig simply asked, glancing at Kenny apathetically as he headed towards the salad bar, which was filled with both fruits and vegetables, but, in all honesty, only the fruits were edible.

“What’s going on with Tweek? He decided to ditch out on lunch. He wanted me to let you know that he was headed to the library before he left,” Kenny pointed his thumb towards the direction behind him. He noticed a brief frown flitter across Craig’s face. 

“To put it simply: people are assholes,” Craig muttered before grabbing a few bananas. He abandoned his tray at the salad bar and bought the fruit before he went on his merry way. _Huh._

Kenny walked straight towards the lunch lady that was currently working the register and flashed his ID. She gave him his bag of lunch, which left him free to head towards his usual table. Honestly, he wondered whether or not the free meals the school provided him and his siblings were really worth their time. More often than not, he was given a piece of fruit, a carton of milk, and a sandwich that only contained wheat bread and American cheese, but, then again, they were free. It was better than nothing at all.

“’Eyo.” Butters looked up at the sound of Kenny’s voice, a strange expression morphing his usually cheerful expression upon seeing him. It wasn’t anger or anything, more like he was trying his best to remember something, but what?

“Kenny, you’re back.”

“Where were you yesterday?”

“Yeah, dude. It was pretty crazy.”

“Wendy was fucking jumping down our throats.”

“I was not!”

“Tweek went off about how the world was ending.”

“You know, you’re normal Monday afternoon.”

It felt like everyone was talking at once and when Kenny plopped his bag of lunch on the table and his ass in his seat, he finally told everyone, “Sorry guys, I had to skip school yesterday. I got into a skateboard accident on Sunday and ended up having to spend the entire day helping out my neighbor with shit, otherwise he said he’d sue me. I won’t bother you with the details other than don’t try to longboard in a rotten neighborhood like mine.”

“That’s it? Laaame,” Cartman groaned, derailing any interest from the story. Thank you, Cartman. Sometimes, and only sometimes, Kenny was extremely grateful that Cartman was actually able to remember his curse.

His attention could now focus on more important matters, like apologizing to Butters on Sunday. “Sorry I couldn’t make it to our tutoring session, Butters. I feel awful for not letting you know—“

“It’s okay, Kenny. I ended up havin’ ta, ta cancel anyways because my d-dad got sick. I called Cartman ta let ya know. I’m guessin’ he didn’t tell ya?” Butters blinked a few times, then glanced at Cartman so that he could give him a disapproving look as the fatass shoved fries into his mouth. “I guess I shouldn’t r-rely on him to tell ya things anymore, right?”

Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. Cartman was reliable maybe fifty percent of the time and, this time, it wasn’t exactly his fault. “I’d probably try Stan or Kyle first.” Then something clicked. “You said your dad was sick? With what?”

“I dunno, really. Probably the flu or s-somethin’ like that, but my mom and I didn’t get him ta the hospital cuz he wasn’t _that_ sick. The next thing we knew, he was gone. D-disappeared. Here he could barely move and all of a sudden we find that he w-wasn’t in his bed. We looked all over the place and called the police. Officer Barbrady is lookin’ into the case right now, but it doesn’t seem like they’re havin’ any luck either,” Butters lip quivered slightly. He looked scared. Kenny wrapped an arm around his shoulders to try to comfort him a bit.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up. This town isn’t that big,” Kenny offered a soft smile. In reality, his hearting was beating furiously. This wasn’t good. Walking around when you were _that_ sick just didn’t seem possible. Damien must have something to do with this. That was the only plausible explanation Kenny could come up with regarding this rapidly spreading disease.

“Fags.” 

Kenny frowned and proceeded to childishly stick his tongue out at Cartman, but, other than that, really didn’t pay much attention to him. Wendy was already getting on his case. Let her deal with the problem child. When he looked back at Butters, however, he was giving him that strange look all over again. “What?”

Butters looked around the room as if he didn’t want anyone to eavesdrop on what he was about to say. Satisfied that no one was paying particular attention to the two, he whispered to Kenny, “You’re goin’ ta think this is s-silly, but, I feel like I’m forgettin’ somethin’, somethin’ that desperately wants ta become known. Like somethin’ happened but I can’t, for the life of me, remember what it was, all I know is that it was about you. Do ya know what I’m talkin’ about?”

This wasn’t the first time Butters had said something like this shortly after he came back to life, and, most likely, it wouldn’t be the last. “I haven’t the slightest.”

**++++**

Mrs. Lipschitz was completely out of her fucking mind. That was the only plausible explanation for her actions at this point in time; otherwise, Kyle was at a complete loss for why she thought it was okay to subject an entire classroom to complete and utter terror. It was clear to Kyle that the flu was spreading throughout South Park at this point in time. Although it was spreading relatively quick, taking out, what seemed to be, a dozen new South Parkians each day, it was still just the flu. The immune system could easily take care of it in a matter of days, if not a week or two.

Mrs. Lipschitz was making it out to be the end of South Park, if not, the world.

“Class, here we have the classic symptoms of a world-wide epidemic. It’s highly contagious. The symptoms disguise itself as something else, which makes curing for it difficult. People have high fevers, some people have horribly irritated throats, and others have excoriating headaches. People might tell you that you have some sort of flu. They’re wrong,” here she paused, taking a moment or two to let it really sink in after she made some sort of poorly written diagram on the classroom’s SMART board.

Tweek looked like he was ready to piss his pants.

It had only been two days since the illness started to really pick up and she was already coming to ridiculous conclusions without any real evidence to support it. At this point in time, Kyle would have gladly taken a misleading documentary rather than this horrible lecture. Seeing as this was the first time a documentary of hers seemed to correlate with anything going on in the world around them, Mrs. Lipschitz had felt the need to make something big out of nothing. Kyle wasn’t sure what was worse: what she was saying or that she was trying to sound as intelligent as possible while spouting complete and utter nonsense.

“What you have is something that no modern medicine can cure. If you’re infected, you will die unless your immune system can kill the virus. And if you miraculously recover, you’re immune to that specific variation of the virus, but do you really want to put your life on the line?”

Jimmy and Kevin looked like they were about to pass out any second, be it from fear or from the fact that they were sicker than dogs. 

“And here our school won’t allow you all to stay at home unless it’s of extreme importance, be it a family crisis or you’re about to drop dead there and then. More often than not, it’s the latter option. If you’re sent home, you’re already doomed. More people will get sick and more people will eventually die. It’s an unstoppable cycle that will only result in havoc and destruction. There’s no stopping it,” Mrs. Lipschitz raised one of eyebrows, her moustache twitching ever so slightly, “so what are we going to do about it? I’ll tell you: nothing.”

Kyle just had about enough of this and raised his hand; however, much to Kyle’s chagrin, she pointedly ignored him. _No matter._ It wasn’t like he was going to let her stop him. “Mrs. Lipschitz, do you have any actual evidence to back up what you’re saying? No one’s died. Like you said, they have flu-like symptoms, but that doesn’t make it some lethal virus that’s going to doom us all.”

Mrs. Lipschitz looked taken aback for a moment or two because someone had the nerve to question her authority. She was the teacher. She believed everyone was supposed to take what she said for granted. But then she changed. Her stout frame was held up in a confident matter, and her beady eyes lit up with a flash of imminent victory, “What about Frank Willis? What about Butters’ dad? How else would you explain their strange behavior? No flu causes people to bite one another. No flu causes people to leave the safety of their bed when they shouldn’t have enough energy to even stand. More and more people report getting bitten, and it’s going to continue like this as time progresses. Don’t you know? We’re already good as dead.”

In a way, Mrs. Lipschitz was right. At this point in time, there were about fifty people infected and of those fifty people, about ten of them had already bitten one or two people. There wasn’t any disease out there that could explain these strange behaviors, unless the fever was making those people delirious or something. But where would they find the strength to even do that?

Maybe Tweek wasn’t as mental as Kyle had originally thought. Maybe there was something more going on in South Park than everyone was originally thinking. But, if he truly believed what they were saying was true, than he’d be admitting that Mrs. Lipschitz wasn’t as fucking insane as he originally thought, that maybe there was some truth to the documentaries she was showing them, and he wasn’t ready to admit that.

**++++**

Being a hero was a thankless job. Mysterion could spend hours on end investigating one lead in order to help the greater good, but he would fail to receive any sort of thanks from the people he was trying to protect. More often than not, he heard complaints and discouragements from those very same people. But he’d grown up with these people, and, despite all of their flaws, it was his duty to protect them. 

He was the only guardian angel they had.

“Wednesday evening. 5:45 pm. Pip should be passing by the theater any moment now. I must be vigilant. Stay close to the shadows. He must not see that I’m here,” Mysterion murmured into a tape recorder he had recently purchased. All good heroes kept audio logs.

If the rumors were true, and Pip had been hanging around Damien for the last few days, then he would know what Damien was up to and why he had killed him. He would force it out of him if he had to. 

“ _They say the end is coming sooner, but the end is already here_ ,” Mysterion heard Pip’s singing voice not too far from him. “ _I said today is but a rumor that we’ll laugh at in a year, or two, or three, or four, or five, whatever_.”

Pip was now crossing the entrance of the alley between the movie theater and the coffee shop. Mysterion only had a few seconds to confront him before he passed by him completely. Because Pip had a pair of headphones on, there was only one option left for the town’s great hero.

He rushed forward, quick to cover Pip’s mouth to silence his protests, forced him into the ally, and pinned his upper arms against the brick walls. “Where is he?” Mysterion demanded once he pulled out Pip’s earbuds.

“Blow me. You’re Mysterion.” Pip was avoiding the question. He also seemed to have a fetish for superheroes. He’d have note that in his audio log, later.

Maybe if he asked him again, he’d answer. Surely the girls weren’t lying about Pip and Damien. “Where is he?” He put more weight on Pip’s arms to let him know that he meant business.

“W-who’s he? W-who are you talking about?” Pip stammered nervously, giving Mysterion a smile that always got on his nerves.

Surely he knew. “Damien Thorn. Where is he?”

“D-Damien? Mysterion, what do you want with Damien? Is he in danger?” Pip looked legitimately worried for him. Why anyone would be worried about the practically immortal son of Satan was anybody’s guess.

“Danger? He is the danger.” Pip looked confused at these words, causing Mysteiron to grit his teeth in frustration. Pip had to realize who he exactly was dealing with. And that kid’s feigned cheery attitude drove him up the wall.

Mysterion tightened his grip. Pip seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the situation. No matter. He needed to be even more direct than he already was if he wanted Pip to see past this impression he had of Damien. “Look, Damien isn’t a nice guy. If he’s acted friendly towards you so far, it’s because he’s trying to get in your head. Manipulate you. Don’t trust him for a second. Now, I want you to tell me whether or not you’ve been with him for the past few days. Do you know why he came back? What is he planning?”

Pip blinked a few times at him, the smile on his face erring ever so slightly. He was tense under Mysterion’s grip. He knew something was up. What was it that he knew? The fake smile was back. He didn’t know whether or not that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“I know Damien is bent as a nine bob note.” What? It was phrases like these that made everyone in South Park hate Pip. “But I’m also not a git. I’m just willing to make friends wherever I can.” He bit his lip, looking away from Mysterion for a moment before sighing and, finally, admitting to him, “I also promised Damien that I wouldn’t tell anyone what he’s doing, and, in all honesty, I don’t even know myself.”

Mysterion was frustrated by this point. If Pip wasn’t willing to give him any information, no amount of threats or punches would get it out of him. Pip was as hardheaded as they came. He released his grip completely, causing Pip to fall to the ground. He didn’t offer him a hand.

He was at square one all over again. 

As Mysterion was about to leave the alleyway, he heard Pip’s quiet accent pierce the otherwise silent passageway: “Damien did tell me something that I think you should know.” 

Mysterion stopped in his tracks. Without looking at Pip, he asked him, “What is it?”

“Don’t drink the water.”

**++++**

It was Wednesday morning.

Butters was scared. It was like he was suffocating, and there was no way for him to take a breath of fresh air. First, his dad had gotten terribly sick, and then he had suddenly disappeared in the middle of the night. He had never left a note. He had never told them where he was going. He was in no condition to be walking around. As far as Butters knew, his dad could be lying in a ditch somewhere, either dead or dying.

Now, his mom was in the exact same condition as his dad: she was just as sick, if not sicker. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost her, too. They may not be the best of parents, but they were still his parents for gosh sakes. 

So Butters made the decision to skip school and take care of his now bedridden mom. If she wasn’t so ill, he would have been grounded the minute he tried to feed her a cup of chicken noodle soup. No matter what the emergency was, Butters was never supposed to miss a day of class.

But, Butters supposed, ensuring that his mom didn’t undergo the same fate as his missing dad was much more important than any punishment his parents could dish out. Even still, Butter couldn’t help but have a niggling feeling of guilt remain in the back of his mind. He was breaking the rules, after all.

“101.8 degrees Celsius,” Butters sighed. “Oh, boy. This isn’t good.” Her fever was getting worse by the day, but she wasn’t sick enough to take to the hospital yet. He set the thermometer to the side, dipped a piece of cloth into the bowl of ice water, and wiped off the sweat from his mother’s forehead. 

She didn’t look well at all.

Butters swallowed the fear that kept threatening to overwhelm him. He had to be strong. He wasn’t a pussy. He told Eric Cartman that not even a week ago; he couldn’t contradict his words now. He just needed keep taking care of her and everything was going to be all right.

He no longer had to worry about getting in trouble with the school. Butters had already called the office about his situation, which, for the most part, they were considerate about. It probably helped that they had heard about what happened to his dad.

And there his thoughts went full circle all over again.

Not wanting to dwell on that particular aspect of his anxious thoughts, Butters realized he had failed to let the fellas know about his absence. He didn’t want them thinking that he, too, had gotten sick by that strange illness that was spreading throughout the town like wildfire. The question remained, though, who should he text? 

He couldn’t text Kenny, because he didn’t own a phone anymore after his tragic run-in with an elevator. Butters wasn’t entirely sure how Kenny’s old beat up flip-phone broke. The story Kenny gave them made little sense, but Butters knew that Kenny wasn’t the type of person to lie for no reason. But even still, it was hard for him to believe that a pack of rats chased him into an elevator, cut the cable the elevator was attached to, and, subsequently, sent Kenny and his flip-phone to their deaths. If that were true, how could Kenny still be alive?

But, Butters was getting a bit off topic. He mentally apologized to no one in particular. It was more out of habit, really.

If he asked Cartman to tell the others why he was gone, he wasn’t entirely sure that Cartman would do it. He did forget to tell Kenny that he needed to cancel their tutoring session, after all. Once again, however, it felt as if Kenny wasn’t telling him everything. Sure, Kenny explained why he still hadn’t gone to his house on Sunday despite Cartman’s mistake, but, for whatever reason, Butters felt as if he should remember something very important related to it all. Even if he tried his hardest to remember, it was as if some barrier was preventing him from remembering what it was, exactly. It was all so strange, really. But then again, this was South Park. What wasn’t odd these days?,/p>

Kyle, however, did share their first period; maybe Kyle could pass on the message. He was a nice guy, after all. Butters also trusted him a lot more than Cartman at this point. His brow furrowed with determination. Yes sirree, he’d text Kyle what was going on.

And so he did, and he felt a little more relaxed now that that was taken care of.

A groan roused him out of his troubled thoughts. _Oh boy_. He better not get too distracted by the thought of his friends. He had more important things to do right now.

**++++**

Charts, diagrams, and statistics: these were three things that Kyle knew he shouldn’t be focusing on in an English class, but he couldn’t help himself. He had to investigate this matter, otherwise the questions he would ask himself over and over again would drive him as insane as it had driven Tweek. It was Stan’s suggestion that allowed him to feel confident enough to act. With questions piling up about the possibility of a new virus in South Park, Stan had proposed that he keep some sort of charting system that documented what had been and what was going on these past few days.

So far, Kyle was able to track down a handful of people that had been one of the first to get sick, one including Butters’ dad. He had also compiled a list of symptoms, possible methods of infection, and a rough estimation for how many people in South Park were currently infected (about 150). What could Kyle say? He used his time and resources efficiently.

“No, no. How many times do I have to tell you that _Catcher in the Rye_ is the equivalent to a monkey taking a giant shit on a typewriter. I don’t care if you menstruated over Holden Caulfield, he is one of the worst characters to have entered the literary world,” Mr. Garrison dug out a book from the dark depths of his desk and slammed it on top of the desk Butters’ usually sat at. Where he was, Kyle wasn’t sure. “Read some decent literature, like _Fifty Shades of Gray.”_

Personally, Kyle would rather not. Any book Mr. Garrison suggested was most likely some poorly written erotica. It was not something he wanted to waste his time on.

A gentle buzz roused his thoughts away from the rantings of his hopeless teacher. His phone had just received a text. It was probably Stan, but, after reading the message, he realized he was wrong. His brows raised. _Oh, wow._

“Kenny,” Kyle whispered, getting the attention of his friend who was sitting next to him, “Check out this text I just got from Butters.”

“Kyle, is that a phone? “

 _Shit._ “No.”

“Give it to me,” Mr. Garrison walked up to Kyle and snatched the device right out of his hands. “You can pick this up after class.” As he was walking back to his desk, everyone in class heard him mutter, “I swear this town is breeding technologically-dependent retards.” He opened the third drawer of his desk and dropped the device in it, taking no mind as to whether or not it could damage the screen. Kyle cringed at the sound of metal slamming on top of a multitude of miscellaneous objects taken from students over the years. At least he was getting his back later.

“Is this some sort of joke?” Mr. Garrison looked up, his face notably paler than usual. No one had any idea what he was talking about. Mr. Garrison reached into the drawer and pulled out something everyone had just about forgotten: Mr. Hat. Mr. Hat had left Mr. Garrison years ago, but, sure enough, here he was on Mr. Garrison’s hand looking like it had gone to hell and back.

“Mr. Hat, what are you doing here?” He waited for a response, but, as time wore on, Mr. Garrison’s expression looked more and more frustrated. “Oh, no. You decide to show up unannounced and just flat out ignore me? Who do you think you are?” He looked towards the rest of the class, “Can someone do me a favor and throw away this unwanted abortion for me? Thank—“

Mr. Hat lunged forward, his puppet-mouth biting into Mr. Garrison’s neck. Then, hell broke loose. Shouts and screams resounded in the room. Some people were attempting to leave the room as Mr. Garrison struggled to pull the puppet away from him, others were trying to find some sort of weapon to help out their teacher as he screamed in agony.

Kyle ran to the window and opened it up, “Mr. Garrison, if you can, try getting to the window!”

His teacher struggled to pull himself to where Kyle dictated as Mr. Hat dragged him this way and that. Kenny rushed forward to assist him, wrenching the puppet away from the man and threw it as far as he could out the window before Kyle shut it brusquely afterwards.

What. The fuck. Just happened?

**++++**

It was Thursday morning and his mother was still incredibly sick. 

Butters had hoped to bring her to the hospital, but, when he had called the clinic earlier that morning, the staff warned him that they were incredibly backed up. There were people just as sick, if not sicker, than her. So, he was left to his own devices. 

His mom was in incredible pain. She had sores forming all over her body, especially on her arms. Butters was forced to replace her Hello Kitty Band-Aids with bandages because they started to bleed through too quickly. At this point, she, too, no longer responded to his words, and, instead, lied in bed with absolutely no energy. She only stared at the ceiling. This scared him the most, because he wasn’t entirely sure what she needed anymore.

She really, really needed to go to the hospital, but if there was no room and if she wasn’t going to be taken care of right away, what was the point?

Butters hummed quietly to himself as he skipped up the stairs, a bottle of water and a washcloth in hand. With every step, it felt like he was getting closer to death’s door, and he knew he shouldn’t be thinking along the lines of that, but he couldn’t help it. This whole situation felt doomed.

He opened the door to his mother’s room. The blinds were drawn, casting an eerie shadow over her. It frightened him whenever he walked in there, but it was necessary. Butters didn’t want to see what she looked like. It scared him.

“Mom, I got ya some water here,” Butters greeted with feigned cheeriness. As expected, there was no response from her. He shut the door behind him. “Kyle texted me not too long ago. Says that school was canceled today since there wasn’t enough staff members available. Seems like e-everyone’s got the same sickness as ya these days. Hope they’re o-okay.” He dampened the rag and brought it gently to her lips, which quivered slightly in response to his touch, but, other than that, she was unresponsive.

Leaving the rag resting against her lips, he moved his attention towards her bandaged arm. “Looks like we’ll need ta replace these soon. We don’t want ya ta get an i-infection or nothin’,” at this point Butters was talking to her more for his benefit than hers. He knew she probably wasn’t even registering what he was saying, but it was nice to hear something other than her haggard breathing.

With nothing left to say, he resorted to humming to himself nothing in particular as he changed her bandages. Suddenly, she shifted. This hadn’t happened in a long while. Butters stopped his movements altogether. Hope fluttered in the pit of his tummy. She moved again, a sharp, strangled intake of breath sounded from her. He looked at her just as she started to sit up, the arm he hadn’t been attending to grabbed ahold of his wrist. Her hands were cold and clammy. Her nails dug into his skin with a force he never thought she was capable of in this state. “Mom?” he asked. 

That’s when she screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone's interested, I listened to a lot of Grand Ole Party (primarily their song I.N.S.A.N.E.) and a lot of Locust Toybox when writing this chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> The next four chapters shouldn't be nearly as long as the first three, which should help with my writing speed. I'll try my best to write them out as well as I can. :p


	4. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nearing the end of Cartman and his group of friend's senior year, and all they want to do is graduate without being slowed down by any insane incidents South Park is prone to experience. When a viral infection begins to spread in South Park and, shortly, the world, any hope of graduating is shot down forever as society is just about destroyed.
> 
> Anyone overtaken by the virus experiences a deterioration of the mind and body at an alarming rate. To make matters worse, it forces its host to attack, murder, and cannibalize on the living: human or animal.
> 
> All they can do now is flee from South Park indefinitely and survive. Whatever you do, keep calm and don't drink the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 is up and ready to read. Even though it's not too long, I hope it's up to your standards. :)  
> Thank you for all of the kudos and comments. Again, they mean so much to me. Even a quick nonsense comment gets a smile out of me even if I can't think of anything to properly respond it with. 
> 
> As for this chapter, thank you so much to those who have been waiting for so long for the apocalypse to pick up. It's no longer fun and games for the gang here. I was extremely surprised by how quickly I was able to write this chapter. I would have been able to upload this sooner if I hadn't been bogged down by finals week and now my job to help pay for my next semester. I'm going to still try to write in my free time as always. 
> 
> And like I promised to an Anon on tumblr, I'm posting this before Christmas. ;)

Her cries of agony were heartbreaking. Butters felt frozen in his seat, unsure whether or not he should cower in fear or reach out and try to calm her down. Before he knew what was exactly happening, her teeth found its way into his shoulder. Butters cried out in horror as he felt her incisors try to dig into his clothing. He wrenched his body away from her, feeling her teeth scrape against the fabric of his wool turtleneck, sending shivers up his spine. He scrambled across the room towards one of its four corners, his heart pounding at a speed he never thought it could possibly beat.

This can’t be real. This had to be some sort of nightmare.

His baby blue eyes widened in horror as his mom’s dilated eyes followed his movements, her eyes flickered hastily over his tiny frame like he was something good to eat. A wet gurgle elicited from the back of her throat. The wet rag he had put on her lips earlier was now halfway hanging out of her mouth, turning crimson with blood. She unsteadily rose to her feet and began to slowly stalk towards him.

Trapped in the corner Butters hastily looked around the room, trying to find some sort of weapon to defend himself with. “I-I’m sorry if I did anythin’ wrong, m-mom. I can be grounded if ya want. I p-promise I won’t skip school again like I’ve been doin’.” This only earned him another shriek before his mom lunged for him. He grabbed the nearest object to his left and smashed it into her face as an act of defense. When she fell backwards onto the ground, he hit her on the head again with the remains of the now broken lamp. “I am so sorry, m-mom!”

Seeing her hand twitch, he ran towards the door as fast as he could screaming and closed it hard behind him. When he started to make his way down the stairs, he almost tripped over his feet when he heard a loud _thump!_ against the door he had just escaped from. The door wasn’t going to hold for much longer if she kept doing that. Another _thump!_ followed shortly by a _crunch!_ sounded. Did she break or dislocate something?

Not wanting to dwell too much longer on that thought, he recovered his footing and rushed towards the front door. Wait. Shoes. He needed his shoes. Butters knelt down, slipped his sneakers on, and tied it as quickly as his nervous fingers could go. He cringed every time he heard his mom bum rush the door, denting it even more.

With a final tug, he had both sneakers on. Butters opened the front door just as he heard his mother break through the doorway.,/p>

“Oh hamburgers, not you too.”

His dad stood there with his head lolling back and forth in a daze, staring up and focusing on nothing. His face was gaunt and pale with pronounced veins spilling out in intricate clumps. Blood oozed out of his mouth in a steady stream. Butters’ eyes glanced down at the man’s hands noticing that the vast majority of his fingers were rotted away. Butters’ lower lip quivered and tears started to cloud his vision, but his mom’s screech brought his focus back to the situation at hand. Pushing the man out of the way, he slammed the door behind him just as she rammed into the wood. His dad merely stumbled back a few feet before his mind caught up to his body. His dad focused on Butters’ retreating form, letting out an animalistic cry.

Butters ran as fast as he could. There had to be somewhere he could go.

A high-pitched shriek caught his attention. He risked looking to his right, noticing the gathering masses of people who were in the same exact state as his parents. “W-what's goin’ on?” Butters whimpered as he continued to run with no destination in mind.

Where should he go? What should he do?

He let out a strangled laugh. It almost sounded foreign to him. Of course, why didn’t he think of it right away? Kenny. Kenny would know what to do. Butters blinked. Fear suddenly enveloped him like a hug. He was going the wrong way. Butters almost let out a sob. Of course he was going the wrong way. He glanced behind him. There was no way he could just turn around. There were six people alone chasing after him, and two of them were his parents. The only way he could possibly escape from them is if he took a right at the bus stop and made his way past the playground. 

When he approached the yellow sign, he almost sighed with relief before he turned right twice to make his way down the road that was just behind his house, but what he saw ahead of him had almost caused him to come to a standstill. People were being forcibly dragged out of the neighboring buildings, while others were being consumed by bloated creatures that barely looked human, they were so disfigured. Butters felt like he was going to be sick.

This had to be a nightmare, but the burning in his lungs and the ache in his legs begged to differ.

Something barreled straight into his back, knocking him down onto the asphalt floor. His mouth felt like it was on fire when one of his teeth chipped against the road. Oh no, oh no, oh no! Butters ignored the pain as he tried to pull himself away from whatever threw him to the ground, but something was pulling him back. He twisted his body against the creature’s grip, managing to turn so that his face was no longer facing the asphalt. What had him in its grip was his dad. With what was left of his hands, his father dragged his fallen form towards the rest of the incoming swarm. In that moment, it felt as if the world had a vendetta against him. This reminded him too much of the night he was forcibly taken to his basement because his parents thought he was a monster. 

With an unfound strength, Butters struggled and kicked with desperation, managing to extract himself out of his dad’s disintegrating digits. With no time to lose, Butters got back to his feet and bolted down the street seeing the playground in the distance. He was so close.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he navigated his way through the chaos. The pain from his bloodied tooth was soon forgotten as the only thought of survival and Kenny consumed him. He could make it. Butters just knew it.

Running into the playground, he was forced to weave through the playground equipment and past all of the malicious children. They, too, looked just like something that had come out of a nightmare. When he exited the gates, he grabbed the opened gate door and closed it, latching it so that the only way they could get through the eight foot tall fence was to either climb it or break it.

With a resolute nod, he turned around. The railroad tracks. He could see them now. With luck, Kenny’s neighborhood would be relatively safe. He took one final glance at the playground, sighing in relief when he saw that his parents were no longer in sight amongst the horde of ten trying to break through the fence.

With newfound determination, he ran the final block to Kenny’s house. The garage shuddered open as he neared it, and the truck coming out of it nearly ran him over. If he hadn’t shouted “Kenny!” while simultaneously falling down on his butt just out of the truck’s oncoming path, he might have gotten hurt.

The car door opened on the passenger side and Kenny shouted, “Get in!” Butters quickly got to his feet and climbed into the vehicle. Upon entering the truck, Butters immediately engulfed Kenny in a hug. Kenny was okay. They hadn’t gotten him.

Kenny returned his embrace just as tightly. He felt so warm and comforting. Butters could almost cry, he was so happy that he was alive. When Kenny finally extracted himself from the hug, he gently lifted Butters face, “Are you okay? Were you bitten?”

Butters shakily nodded, his body trembling, “I’m okay, just c-chipped my tooth is all.” He glanced down at the shoulder of his slightly mangled turtleneck. “Um, my m-mom bit my shoulder.”

“Did she break the skin? Tell me she didn’t break the skin!” Kenny’s eyes looked almost manic as he looked him over, noticing the torn and scuffed up clothes Butters was wearing.

Butters looking down at himself, feeling a tad self-conscious upon realizing how messed up he looked right now. His clothes were covered in mud and blood (although he was pretty darn sure it wasn’t his), his upper lip was all scraped up, and a quarter of his front tooth was chipped off. He pulled down the collar of his turtleneck and revealed a line of bruises on his shoulder, each shaped like one of his mother’s teeth, “Uh, no. No I don’t t-think so. I think my shirt was too thick for her.”

Kenny visibly relaxed at that, “Thank God.” He reached over, his hand hovering over Butters’ lips, “May I?” Butters nodded and opened his mouth slightly. Kenny carefully examined his tooth, careful not to touch any of his wounds. Butters was aware of every light touch, every subtle noise Kenny made, the soft look of concern on his face, and how Kenny smelt like the sweet scent of poptarts and febreeze. “It’s not bleeding or anything. Does it hurt?”

Butters brain felt like it was short-circuiting. He couldn’t make a sound. Kenny was so close. This was the most Butters ever let himself feel about Kenny, and he needed to push these thoughts back down to where they were before. His parents wouldn’t like this. His parents couldn’t ever find out about this. It was just the adrenaline, Butters. That was all it was. It had to be.

The car lurched to the side. One of those things must have seen them and was now trying to break through the driver’s door. Kenny let out a small, strangled noise, moving away from Butters, and put the car into reverse. The creature fell to the ground, letting out a cry of frustration as they escaped. “Butters, put on your seatbelt.”

“Do you know what’s going on Kenny?” Butters tried not to look at Kenny. He knocked his knuckles together nervously. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from shaking, whether it was from what just transpired or the events going on around him, he wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know,” Kenny reached over and ruffled his hair, frowning a little when Butters pulled out of his touch. Butters couldn’t blame him. He never did that. Hopefully Kenny would pass it off on the fact that South Park, as they knew it, was falling apart. “Whatever it is, it seems like whoever gets bitten becomes infected with that weird disease.”

Butters eyes widened at that. Dots connected in his brain. “Wait, b-bitten? Ya mean we can get infected like z-zombies?”

Kenny rubbed a hand across his face letting out a hysteric laugh, “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Why didn’t I realize this? It was so fucking obvious: they’re all zombies.”

“No one knew, Kenny. Don’t blame yourself for this,” Butters said quietly. Kenny did this a lot, blaming himself for anything bad happening to South Park. Butters always tried telling him not to, but he was never sure whether or not Kenny actually believed what he said.

It all made sense, though, everyone sick turning into zombies. Based on the very few zombie films he and Kenny secretly watched a few years ago, a lot of the symptoms seemed very zombie-like to him. But, if this were the case, what did that mean for South Park? What about his parents? Was there even a cure? He closed his eyes. He could admit to himself that he was frightened of his parents, with or without the virus, but what he couldn’t imagine was a world without them hovering over his every action. He wasn’t used to personal freedom. As much as it pained him to admit, he felt panicked at the thought of them not grounding him over something he did wrong. It wasn’t that he was a masochist or anything, it just felt so unnatural for it not to happen.

“What d’we do now?”

“About an hour ago, I heard we were supposed to meet up at the Town Hall,” Kenny turned on the radio. “Let’s see if it’s still safe.”

_“-not a drill: all residents of South Park who are capable of safely traveling should immediately head to the Town Hall. We have supplies and medical care available for everyone. The front entrance is the only entrance currently available because the rest of it is being barricaded. If you come across anyone that looks sick, do NOT approach them. I repeat, do NOT approach anyone that looks sick. They will try to attack you upon sight. Again, head to the Town hall immediately. This is not a drill, I repeat—“_ Kenny turned off the radio once the transmission began looping again. They still had hope.

“Town Hall it is then, unless you have any better ideas?” The car jerked to the side slightly as Kenny barely dodged yet another zombie running across the road.

Butter shook his head, quietly murmuring, “Y-you were the only idea I had.”

Kenny smiled softly, “Glad to know you’re safe, Butters” He sighed. “As soon as I heard the kind of shit that was going on in town, I panicked. My first action was to send my family to Town Hall, but I knew I couldn’t stay until I knew you were okay. I knew something wasn’t right after hearing about your parents. I wish I could have known fucking zombies were going to overrun the town. I might have been able to do something. I might have been able to stop it—“

“Kenny, don’t you be thinkin’ like that, m-mister. It’ll give ya nothin’ but trouble,” Butters berated him, waggling his finger. He could do this all night if he had to if that meant that Kenny would stop blaming himself for this.

He laughed lowly, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. What’s done is done. Let’s just make sure we get there safe.” He paused, seeming to realize something. “Do you still have your phone on you?”

 _Phone?_ Butters check his front pocket, surprised to find that it was still intact after all of the abuse it might have gone through in his pants, then again, it was a flip phone. “D’ya want me ta call somebody?”

“Yeah, give the others a call. We need to make sure that they’re getting their asses to Town Hall as soon as possible, if not already. Tell them to bring any weapons or supplies they might need if they have the time,” Kenny lifted up a backpack he had hidden next to him as he kept his eyes on the road. “I don’t have much, but I at least have something to defend ourselves with.” Butters accepted the bag when it was handed over to him. He was surprised to see how heavy it was. “With what room I had left, I filled the rest of the bag with bottled water. We’ll need to make it last. Whatever we do, we can’t drink the water.”

Butters nodded, albeit slightly confused at the last bit, but he could ask Kenny about that later. They were about five minutes away from Town Hall and he needed to call the others like Kenny asked. He entered Kyle’s number: “It’s ringin’.” 

An ear-piercing shriek exploded from out of the earpiece and Butters nearly dropped his phone in the process. _  
“Yeah, Butters, we might have to call you back.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have chapter 5 mostly figured out, so hopefully it will take just as long to write it as it did this.
> 
> The concept of Sgt. Bedlam wasn't made by me but one of my favorite mutuals skittering-roach. Be sure to check out their blog and character design.


	5. All Dogs Go to Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's nearing the end of Cartman and his group of friend's senior year, and all they want to do is graduate without being slowed down by any insane incidents South Park is prone to experience. When a viral infection begins to spread in South Park and, shortly, the world, any hope of graduating is shot down forever as society is just about destroyed.
> 
> Anyone overtaken by the virus experiences a deterioration of the mind and body at an alarming rate. To make matters worse, it forces its host to attack, murder, and cannibalize on the living: human or animal.
> 
> All they can do now is flee from South Park indefinitely and survive. Whatever you do, don't drink the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy to finally get this chapter written and posted. It proved to be one of the most problematic chapters yet for reasons that I don't even understand. I had little time to write, but, when I did, I always seemed to have the biggest writer's block imaginable.
> 
> I'm done with college for the summer, though, so I'm hoping that means more writing time. Keep in mind I'll be doing a lot of artwork, too, so I'll be divvying up my time a bit away from this project.
> 
> I'm super excited to get started with chapter 6, though, because, by the end of it, I'll release the URL for an upcoming ask blog I'm making for the series, which will be hosted on tumblr, because why not?
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Feel free to comment, each one means the world to me, and don't feel afraid to let me know if you're not happy with something.
> 
> I want to give a quick thanks to Sneaky-Sneaky-Soy-Sauce for helping me out with this chapter, I wouldn't have been able to finish as soon as I did if I hadn't had your help.

“Stan, you can’t be serious.”

Stan rolled his eyes at this, already guessing where this conversation was going. A small smile tugged at the side of his lip in amusement. He couldn’t help it, really. “Wendy, I’ve already told you, we’re just not like that,” Stan adjusted his cellphone so that it was placed securely between his chin and his shoulder as he struggled to put his mechanics suit on. His feet refused to go through the leg openings, making it a pain in the ass to try to get on. It hadn’t helped that Sparky suddenly decided that one of his pant legs would make the perfect chew toy. He tried pulling the piece of cloth away from his dog, but the old mutt had it in an iron grip. He muttered angrily to his pet, “Sparky, no. Bad dog.”

Despite the chaos on his end, he could still clearly make out the exasperation in her voice: “And I refuse to accept that answer. Stan, you two have been together for what? Two years now?”

“Three,” Stan said distractedly as he managed to get the damn cloth out of his dog’s mouth. He then draped the uniform over one of his shoulders and headed towards the kitchen with Sparky following at his heel. The pill probably wanted some breakfast. Focusing back on their conversation he reaffirmed what he just said, “We’ve been dating for three years.”

“Three years?” he could practically see her throwing up her hands in frustration at that. “Stan, you’ve been dating together for three years? That’s the longest high school relationship South Park has ever seen. You’ve been through hell and back, both literally and figuratively, and yet you two have only ever gone out on a handful of dates. What are you two doing?”

He shrugged sheepishly, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Um, mostly what we’ve always done. Why? What seems to be the problem?” He knew that that was a stupid question to ask her, but he couldn’t help but ask. Sparky licked the palm of his hand as he put down a bowl filled with kibble for the beast.

“Wait, don’t tell me you two are spending the one day of the year that school is canceled to hang out in your garage? You’ve got to be joking. I just… I…” here she sighed. “If I were you, I would be taking Kyle to one of the few fancy restaurants this town has to offer at least once in a while, definitely today. Not once every few months. You should celebrate what you two have as often as you possibly can. Do I have to be the romantic spark in your guys’ relationship?”

Stan chuckled at that. He opened a pack of poptarts and told her right before taking a bite, “We’re just not really the romantic type, so you might have to do a lot more than a spark.”

“I’ll burn down the entire neighborhood if that’s what it takes for you two to go on a double date with Token and I,” he could hear the smile in her voice.

He wouldn’t doubt that. Wendy was known to go to extreme lengths if it meant doing something for the greater good. That was something he admired about her. Justifying her actions over a couple’s night out would definitely be something she was capable of. “Well shit, then I guess I should probably consider it at least,” he clicked his tongue in thought. “Tell you what, I’ll ask Kyle and see what he thinks.”

“And by ask, do you mean deliberately forget about it like last time?”

“Well, yes and no.” Stan didn’t want to lie, per se, it wasn’t like he didn’t forget to ask, it was more like whenever he was about to something more important popped up. Typically that ranged from making out in his room or getting caught up in one of South Park’s latest mishaps. “Tell you what. Why don’t we meet up later on today? If I don’t show up at your house with Kyle at five, feel free to call me up and chew me out.”

“Deal.”

“Talk to you later, Wendy.”

“Seeya Stan. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” and with that, Stan hung up on her. He took his time eating the rest of his poptart and putting on his mechanics suit. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go. It was nine in the morning and Kyle wasn’t due until ten o’clock. He put his hands in the suit’s pockets and leaned against the counter. A smile graced his lips as Sparky bounded over to him after he finished eating his meal. He kneeled down, hugged his dog, and accepted the big sloppy kiss the beast gave him. 

“Come on, buddy, let’s get you outside.” The dog happily trailed after him as he made his way to the back door. He slid it open with ease and Sparky bolted outside to take a piss. Stan decided to leave him out there for a while. Sparky could use some fresh air. Despite the fact that their fencing system only paneled their backyard and didn’t cut off the entrance to the front, Sparky was smart enough to know not to wander off. He was a good boy. He was okay to do as he pleased.

It was now Stan’s turn to be released. 

His feet led him towards the garage. Upon opening the door, he was met with an eerie darkness that consumed the room. The faraway metal faintly reflected against the single source of light. He turned on the switch, illuminating the garage in an instant, there he was met with a rusted old Chevelle whose entire system didn’t work properly: his latest project. 

Nearby the garage door lied an old wooden end table his mom refused to get rid of. It acted as a stand for the stereo system he had installed in the garage that could hook up via aux cord. His hand dove into his pocket to retrieve his smart phone, which had sawdust stuck underneath its case. With the device attached to the stereo Stan hit play: “ _And we sing this morning. That wonderful and grand old message. I don’t know about you but I never get tired of it. Number 99: Just As I Am._ ” The music filled him with complete and utter zen as he picked up his wrench. He muttered underneath his breath the lyrics of “Daisy”, moving aside the pile of wood that was haphazardly discarded in the corner of the garage for future use. Beneath its oaky breath was his old skateboard, which was now covered in sawdust due to its disuse. It must have been awhile since he’d last had time to work on a project, and it felt almost freeing to be able to focus his frustrations and shortcomings onto the gears he turned, the rust he cleaned, and the parts he replaced. Amidst the wood pile, he noticed something abandoned in the very back corner of it. 

Stan picked it up and smiled. These yellow-glasses were from his old Toolshed costume, his alter ego that had inspired him to continue to build rather than pursue sports like his father pushed him to do. It wasn’t an immediate switch. It took the falling out of him and Kyle’s friendship near the beginning of fifth grade, his mother and his father’s divorce later that same year, and his mother forcing him to go to a therapist to treat his depression that caused him to finally rekindle his interest in building. His friendship with Kyle was renewed shortly afterwards and he no longer felt as angry with the world. He couldn’t explain it really. He guessed some things could never be simply explained with words. 

His father wasn’t too happy with this change, but his dad thought that the hobby he took up was better than anything else. This was especially true when he accidentally found out about his and Kyle’s relationship during their Junior year. One year of blissful ignorance was destroyed by his father’s inability to knock on a door when entering a room and their forgetfulness to lock said door for once in their life. His dad didn’t care that he caught his son making out with another guy; instead, what he had cared about was whether or not Stan would suddenly transform into an extreme case of a gay stereotype like Mr. Slave all of a sudden. Carpentry and the like was a man’s hobby—his dad’s words, not his—and that was second best to sports. 

All in all, adults were fucking stupid.

He tossed the old pair of sunglasses to the side and headed towards the old, rusted car parked in the middle of his mother’s garage with his skateboard in hand. It was a side project of his. He managed to save up enough money to afford this heap of junk so that he could repair it and potentially sell it. He placed all of his needed supplies beside the vehicle before he walked towards the white metal garage door. Stan lifted it up partially with ease, letting in the cool May air.

It should be about a half an hour until Kyle got there. With his tools in hand and all’s well on the home front, Stan was finally able to work on his project.

**+__+**

Sweat started to accumulate across his brow as he worked long and hard replacing and cleaning the rusted gears. Stan was lost in his repetitive motions, any responsibilities and obligations forgotten. Fuck what his father said, he’d rather spend hours working on something like this than spending his time on some sport he didn’t even particularly care about playing.

A rapping noise startled his movements followed by a voice which disrupted the sound of his music, “I hope you didn’t forget I was coming over today.”

Stan smiled, pushing his skateboard out from underneath the car revealing a smirking Kyle. The garage light made his hair shine bright red and revealed just how unrestrained those locks were. Kyle’s cool green eyes stared at him with adoration, and Stan couldn’t help but feel the same. “Nah,” Stan said, wiping the sweat from his brow. Kyle leaned in, gently kissing him. Stan was just about to reciprocate the action when Kyle pulled away. Stan pouted childishly as Kyle grabbed a Kleenex from his back pocket. Before Stan could react, Kyle spit into it and wiped what looked like grease from Stan’s cheek. Stan scowled, “It’s just going to get filthy again in a second.”

“I’d rather not kiss an engine, thank you,” Kyle kissed Stan again and this time Stan had the chance to return it. It was longer and rougher than before, making it feel as if his whole body were on fire. When Kyle finally retreated, Stan had a goofy smile on his face. Really, no matter how many times they did that it still left him feeling as if he took a breath of fresh air.

“How’s the car looking so far?” Kyle asked him as he absent-mindedly ran his hand along one of the rusty patches of metal Stan still needed to fix.

“A lot better than when I first started it. She’s almost ready to run again,” Stan patted the side of the vehicle with a proud glint in his eyes. He started to give a rather complicated explanation for the car’s current modifications and enhancements, well aware that Kyle could probably understand only a third of what he was actually saying. For once, this was his domain of expertise. Kyle never interrupted him or asked to change the subject. He just listened, and Stan appreciated him for this. It was why they made sense. They were always able to pick up on their nonverbal cues and knew exactly what the other needed without having to explicitly say it. 

And once he was finished, Kyle was looking at him like he was worth something. Impulsively, Stan kissed him for it. Kyle seemed relatively surprised by the sudden action, but went along with it anyways. “So, now that you’re up to speed with everything, what have you got?” Stan asked him once his brief display of affection was over.

Kyle stood up, opening his messenger bag that he must have put on top of the nearby counter before he had made his arrival known. He pulled out what looked like a comic book of some kind and waved it in front of him, “Behold, issue #37 of _Mysterion_. I stopped by the gas station before coming here.”

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Stan quickly wiped the grease from his hands and held them out as if to ask if he could hold it, which Kyle reluctantly complied. Stan was quickly flipping through the pages admiring the art of South Park’s local town hero. He paused on one particular page, confused by this new character’s appearance: His lithe frame was drowning inside a long, dirty trench coat. Long legs led into black combat boots. The man’s face was hidden behind a gas mask with only unruly blond hair hinting that what was behind the mask was human. For reasons he couldn’t explain, his appearance unsettled him. “Who’s this?”

Kyle glanced at the page he was on, recognition flashing across his face, “Him? He’s Mysterion’s newest enemy, Sergeant Bedlam. He made his first appearance last issue. Guy’s probably worse than Professor Chaos.”

Stan’s brows went up at that. Professor Chaos was Mysterion’s biggest enemy in the comics. His character was much more vicious than Butters’ portrayal ever was. He killed innocent civilians, destroyed large portions of the city the series was featured in, and did whatever it took to try and take out the practically immortal Mysterion. “What does he exactly do?”

“Not much has been shown so far. He seems to be pretty unpredictable and unstable. In the last issue, Sergeant Bedlam let off a few lethal gas grenades in various hospitals, post offices, and other government buildings and is now taking the mayor and all of Town Hall hostage. Weird thing is is that he’s simultaneously hurting his hostages but treating them as if they were guests of his. I don’t know. From what I can tell, it seems to be some sort of leverage for his ostracism. They revealed that he’s a French immigrant near the end of it,” Kyle pointed to a few panels. One showed him having tea with the beaten and immobilized Mayor, the other being a zoom in on his manic eyes which were partially hidden beneath the lenses of his gas mask. 

Stan flipped through a few more pages, not particularly focusing on the dialogue bubbles itself. He just wanted to get the feel of it, it was Kyle who read them thoroughly. Suddenly a particular panel caught his interest. “Holy shit.” Whoever drew the pictures for this series earned some serious respect points. The image he had just come across sent a chill down his spine. Mysterion had ripped the mask off of Sergeant Bedlam revealing an unnaturally outstretched smile. 

Kyle read out loud what Bedlam had said upon this revelation, “I was always taught that zee bigger zee smile you adorn, zee easier it is to ignore zee pain.” 

“Your French accent could use some work, but this comic series really outdoes itself.” Kyle flicked him across the nose for the first half of his comment.

“You haven’t seen anything. I keep telling you you’d actually enjoy reading them for once in your life,” Kyle playfully knocked his fist into Stan’s shoulder.

Stan shrugged nonchalantly, “You know me. I don’t have the stamina to read through a series as long and as quickly as you do. Besides, I enjoy hearing you explain it.” He handed him the comic book after glimpsing a few more panels. Kyle rolled his eyes at Stan’s probably piss poor excuse, but didn’t complain. He packed the comic temporarily into his bag until he sat at his usual spot: on top of a counter Stan had set up for him years ago, the stool left forgotten beside it.

Kyle made himself comfortable, leaning himself against the intersection of the two walls, feet splayed out in front of him, and the comic book rightfully in his hands. He seemed content, which gave Stan the okay to return beneath the metallic depths of his car.

The two stayed like that for a while, working with a comfortable silence between them and the faint sound of music echoing throughout the garage. Kyle accompanied the music by attempting to tap to its beat. Stan refrained from pointing out that his rhythm was off. Kyle probably knew that already and felt comfortable enough with Stan to unashamedly continue his movements. It wasn’t his fault that he had little to no sense of rhythm. Stan absolutely adored that particular trait. It was rare for him to see, so much as hear it, though.

“Hey, Kyle?”

“Hm?” Kyle absentmindedly responded as he turned another page.

“You doing anything later today?” Stan partially slid out from beneath the car so he could get a good view of Kyle’s response.

“Not that I know of. Why? Is your mom going to be gone tonight?” his cheeks started to turn pink. 

“Possibly, but that’s not why I’m asking. Wendy called me earlier today. She’s wondering if you’d like to go on a double date with her and Token.” Well, threatened was more like it, but, hey, at least he remembered to ask this time.

“I don’t see why not. When and where?”

“Five PM. Since Token’s probably buying, I’m assuming he’s taking us to the City Bistro.”

“City Bistro is still in business? Holy shit, I thought they had shut down,” Kyle looked genuinely surprised, which Stan couldn’t blame him for. What sane restaurant would stay after being infested with genetically modified cockroaches?

“Live and pointedly forget seems to be South Park’s motto. I’ll text Wendy that she doesn’t have to follow through with her threat.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, “Let me guess, she threatened to set the entire town on fire if we didn’t do this.”

“Actually, yeah.”

He stared at Stan for a few seconds, blinking once or twice in bewilderment and muttered, “I know you two way too well. If I were anyone else, I’d be disconcerted by that fact.” 

Stan laughed at that: “Well, I guess we can count us lucky then. We get a free meal out of it and a crisis diverted. The town gets to live another day.” He slipped right back underneath the car after that, humming quietly to himself as the music continued to thrive.

He could barely make out Kyle’s “but for how much longer?’ which sounded ominous as fuck. Stan was used to Kyle saying things like this, however. Fourteen years of Cartman’s schemes coupled with South Park’s shit storms could do that to you. Stan just let Kyle do what he needed to do. If Kyle needed his help, he’d let him know.

It was as soon as they were back into the groove of things that Spotify decided to shit out on them, cutting off in the middle of a song. He swore underneath his breath. Damn thing always did that at some of the most inconvenient times for practically no reason. This was why there was hate in the world. “Dammit, the app must have stopped working. Kyle?”

“Already on it,” Kyle closed his comic book and hopped off the table. The vibrations from his footsteps traveled across the cement flooring, passing by him and towards his connected phone.

“Stan?”

Stan reluctantly rolled out from beneath his car, confused as to why Kyle was saying his name. “What’s up? Spotify giving you trouble?”

“No,” Kyle turned his head, adopting an expression of immense concentration. Stan stayed absolutely silent, extremely perplexed and concerned as to what’s going on. Kyle suddenly perked up, turning his head towards Stan: “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” The two of them stayed silent for a few seconds longer, listening intently but hearing absolutely nothing. “Whatever it was, it’s probably just Sparky. Don’t worry about it, dude.” He smiled at Kyle easily, wiping an arm across his forehead. He saw no reason to start becoming suspicious. He had heard nothing, and, knowing his mutt better than anyone else, it wouldn’t be surprising if Sparky was getting into trouble outside. So long as he wasn’t digging up the yard or chasing after Mr. Kitty again, it wasn’t any of Stan’s concern.

Kyle’s eyes lurked on the faded white garage door, suspicion reflecting in his eyes. He must have trusted his judgement, however, because he pressed play and wandered back to his comic book, albeit rather hesitantly. The two resumed their previous rhythms.

A giant clatter was heard just outside the garage. Sparky’s barking interrupted the silence that followed, alerting both Kyle and Stan despite the music that blasted throughout their small enclosure. Stan wheeled straight out, exchanging a worried glance with Kyle before they turned their gazes towards the garage door. Silence followed for the briefest of moments before they heard an onslaught of frantic barking, a yelp, and even more all-consuming silence.

_Sparky!_

They were both up in an instance. Stan grabbed his battery-powered nail gun, no mercy lurking in his eyes; whereas, Kyle took hold of his dad’s golf club, which miraculously remained at his mom’s house despite the divorce. Stan muttered to himself as he pushed his sleeves up and aimed the gun at the garage door, “You son-of-a-bitch, I swear, if you hurt Sparky, there’s going to be hell to pay.”

“Let’s take either side of the garage door and check underneath the gap. Maybe we can catch him by surprise if something’s going on,” Kyle whispered urgently, just loud enough for Stan to hear him over the music. He glanced his way, noticing how Kyle raised his golf club in preparation for the fight ahead. If there was one thing that Stan and Kyle learned over the years, it was that you don’t fuck with family, and Sparky was very much a part of their family.

Just as Kyle had suggested, they lined up next on either side of the garage door, with Stan on the right and Kyle on the left. From where they stood, they could hear footsteps. Kyle knelt down, peeking beneath the crack. “What do you see?” Stan murmured, hand clenching angrily. He bet the bastard was a lowlife with no respect for anyone and anything. He hated people like that, couldn’t stand people like that. 

“A pair of feet walking not too far from the door. Whoever it is, it looks like they’re hurt.”

“Any sign of Sparky?”

“No, no there isn’t. Hopefully that means he’s okay,” Kyle didn’t sound reassuring. Stan hated to think along the lines of this, but it sounded as if Kyle were keeping something from him.

“On three, we go outside together,” Stan double-checked that the nail-gun was ready to shoot.

“One.” Kyle stood up and made sure he had a proper hold of the handle.

“Two.” Stan grabbed the bottom of the garage door with his left hand.

“Three.” The garage door lifted up with ease, revealing a crooked-looking woman limping down the driveway. Upon hearing them, she turned around, mouth biting into a small, furry body, blood oozing down her front. Chunks of her hair was missing from her head as if it were ripped out at the roots. Her neck was swollen and misshapen, the skin around it calloused and discolored. Her eyes were bugging out of its sockets, glossed over with a yellow sheen. And the blood, she was covered in so much blood.

Stan didn’t know whether to throw up or cry.

She pulled her mouth away from his beloved pet’s limp body, looking at the two with a slightly bewildered expression. Her nose crinkled up, she took a step back and opened her mouth. A high-pitched, agonizing screech sounded from the woman, forcing Stan and Kyle to cover their ears. How the hell was she able to make such a gruesome sound?

As soon as her cry was over, Stan was on her in an instant, aiming his nail gun right at her head. Despite what she had done to his beloved pet, despite the fact that she had the audacity to bite into his neck like some god-damned monster whilst backing away from them, Stan couldn’t find it in himself to pull the trigger. He felt as if he were betraying Sparky for his immense failure. His fingers were there, perfectly prepared to pull down if he had the willpower, but, for some reason, his brain had grown foggy. His knees had locked up. The thought of doing the immense damage he was intending to deal using the nail gun made him want to throw up.

Kyle, on the other hand, started to rush forward, shouting out his own war cry, but Stan stopped him. He grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling him back with a force that almost sent him to the ground. He looked at Stan in confusion, “Dude?!”

Stan lifted out an arm, pointing out to the horizon. He felt his knees begin to shake. Kyle followed where his finger was directed towards and, seeing, to his utmost horror, a hoard of monsters rushing towards them.

The woman screamed again.

They were moving in an instant. Slamming the garage door down, Stan immediately grabbed a nearby backpack, filling it with potential weapons and extra ammo for the nail gun along with some miscellaneous tools, and, of course, his phone. They had to get out of there. They had to get the fuck out of there. There were so many of those things out there. They couldn’t possibly survive. They would end up like poor Sparky. 

He felt a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Stan looked at Kyle, noticing the look of dread in his boyfriend’s eyes. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Stan asked, his voice strained.

“I don’t know.”

“What should we do?”

“I don’t know.”

Then this was it. Eighteen years of his life was soon going to be put to waste by a hoard of murderous and deformed neighbors of his. What a way to go. A deep, deep sense of self-hatred consumed him. He should have shot her before she shrieked like that. He should have done at least something rather than just stand there while she chewed on Sparky’s corpse.

“Hey.” A gentle hand directed his gaze to Kyle’s. “We’re going to get out of this. We still have some time until they can make their way into the garage. Now let’s think: What should we do?”

With this request acting as a distraction from his own increasingly cynical thoughts, his brain managed to come up with one idea: “What about the back? Do you think we can hop the fence?” 

“It’s probably our best bet.” Cold fingers grasped onto Stan’s trembling hands. “Let’s go.”

They ran through the door leading into the house and stumbled over the shoes littering the entrance. Stan heard Kyle mutter about how this was why he always chastised the Marsh family for this habit of theirs, but Stan ignored him. Now was not the time to pay any attention to this minor detail.

The two of them were extremely familiar with the layout of Stan’s house, so it took them less than a minute to grab Stan’s inhaler, in case they would ever need it, and book it out the back door. Upon reaching the large expanse of grass, they were eyed by a few of those things lingering at the rear of Stan’s home. None of those creatures seemed to have the capability to draw the others attention because they barely made a sound to his utmost relief.

“Come on,” Stan tugged Kyle’s sleeve, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Everything around them seemed so much louder. The cries, the moans, the sound of his and Kyle’s stomping feet and ragged breaths. He grabbed ahold of the fence, putting his feet one after the other onto its horizontal cross-beam, grabbing the top of the fence, and pulled himself up, lifting a leg over it before grabbing Kyle’s hand to help him do just the same. Just as their hands clasped together, Kyle’s ring tone went off.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Stan did his best to help get Kyle up on top of the ten foot tall fence. Luckily for them, despite the heavy-ass messenger bag Kyle was wearing, they got him up top unscathed. Kyle hastily brought the still ringing phone out of his pocket and Stan prayed to God that no one but them and the few lingering zombies that were trying to reach for them had heard the irrefutable sound of the song “Maniac”. 

Stan saw Kyle’s finger swipe the accept button just as all hell broke loose and his fear had come true. He had almost fallen off of the fence at the sound of her cries. Its sound reached deep within his reservoir of fear, but he managed to recover before any damage could be done. 

“Yeah, Butters, we might have to call you back,” Kyle sounded practically breathless and afraid as those concentrated at the front started to bound their way towards them. _Butters? Of course it’s him. Who else would it be?_ Something brushed Stan’s foot, pulling him out of the rage and frustration that started to overwhelm him, and he instinctively pulled his feet up right before he might have been thrown off balance by one of the members of the hoard. He noticed Kyle mirror his subsequent action. “We’ve got our hands a bit tied up right now.” Well that was the understatement of the century.

“Kyle, we need to get off this fence _now_ ,” Stan urged him.

Kyle held up a finger, “Sorry, Butters, can you repeat that? We’re supposed to go where—“ a particularly deranged looking man had managed to get a firm grip on Kyle’s foot, pulling him down with all of his might. Stan could only look in horror as Kyle started to lose his balance. Kyle hastily pulled his hands away from his body, attempting to obtain any semblance of balance he could as he tried to kick away the grip the guy had on his ankle.

“ _Seig heil_!” Wait. “ _Deutsche Schulen_!” Was that German?

“Get. The hell. Off. Of me!” Kyle kicked his foot with each punctuation until his foot managed to slip out of his shoe and the grip on his ankle was released. Kyle’s eyes grew impossibly wide, and, before Stan could properly assess what was happening and react, he began to fall backwards, phone slipping from his hand and into the middle of the frantic hoard. “Shit!” Kyle’s hands tried to get a grip on the edge of the fence, but it only caused his body to twist at an odd angle and land with a painful thud on the other side of the fence. The side that was unoccupied by anyone.

Stan swiftly jumped down beside him, ensuring that he had adjusted his weight so that he could reduce the shock of landing from such a high height. He stared down at his boyfriend’s sprawled out form unsure what to do. His stomach churned and his nerves felt frayed. It took a few seconds before reason punched him in the face and he got the sense to kneel down and gently shake his shoulder, “Kyle, Kyle, are you alright?”

A groan escaped him, Kyle’s eyes looked dazed and unfocused when he turned his head towards Stan but he managed to force a grin, “For the most part.” With his right arm, which was sprawled out at his side, he pushed himself up partially before freeing his left arm from beneath his body. When he attempted to use his left arm to push himself up, however, he had immediately cried out in pain before he bit his tongue to prevent himself from making any more loud noises. Stan instinctively held him from under his armpits to prevent Kyle from suddenly collapsing from the need to release the pressure he had just put on his left arm. “Fuck. This isn’t good.”

“I’m not abandoning you.”

Kyle laughed despite himself, “Never thought you would.”

“Here.” He assisted him into a proper sitting position before slipping the messenger bag from Kyle’s shoulders despite the sudden protests that followed. “No. I’m going to take this from you and you can’t do anything about it.” Kyle’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t protest further as he clutched his left arm delicately. He knew he couldn’t fight Stan’s grim determination. A thump that erupted near them focused both of them back towards the danger at hand. Those things were trying to break their way through the fence. “We need to go. Can you walk?” Stan offered his right hand, which Kyle graciously accepted, and helped him to his feet with one fluid motion. Kyle tested his footing, relieved to find that his left arm was the only thing that had taken any damage. “Then let’s go.”

The two promptly ran to the back of the house looming in front of them, careful not to make too great of a noise. They did not want to come across something like that woman again. They lingered near the rear so that Kyle could take a look and understand what their current predicament truly looked like. Stan eyed him with concern, noticing the pain that subtlety corrupted his focused expression. “Look, there’s more of them. What do you think they’re doing?”

Stan followed the direction Kyle was pointing at, eyeing the hunched forms of a multitude of people decorating his neighbors’ lawns. A sudden realization dawned on him and he had to swallow the bile that had suddenly risen up his throat: “They’re eating them.” They couldn’t be, but they were. 

A poorly concealed hiss escaped Kyle. He murmured, “They’re zombies. Frank Willis, Mr. Stotch, Mr. Hat, the whole lot of them. They’re all zombies.”

And Stan’s world felt like it crumpled around him. South Park was known for its incessant chaos and impossible happenings, but this was taking it to a whole new level of hell. There were children lying dead on some of those lawns and, from what he could tell, their own family members were _devouring_ them. “W-what should we do?”

“We need to head somewhere safe to wait out in. That’s the only thing I can think of.” Kyle stared solemnly at the corpse-eating monsters for a few seconds. “We might have to eventually leave South Park if it comes to it. Look.” He gestured to the whole lot of them. “This looks a whole shit ton more complicated than when we were nine.” Stan nodded hesitantly. He wasn’t entirely sure what Kyle had meant by this, but, assuming they made it out of this alive, Kyle could explain it to him more thoroughly later.

“So long as we stick together, we should be fine,” Stan finally breathed out.

Kyle nodded his head, swallowing nervously when his eyes slid back to danger ahead of them. “Where do you think we should go?”

Grateful for the distraction, Stan let his mind linger on the question with the utmost concentration. Where _should_ they go? There was always Town Hall, but that was halfway across South Park. With Kyle hurt, Stan didn’t want to travel to that far of a distance on foot. It was dangerous as it was. South Park Mall was also scratched off of the list for different reasons. Although it was at a significantly shorter distance from where they were located, the building was sure to be overpopulated. That left one location Stan knew could provide them at least some sort of temporary protection until hunger forced them to move: “What about the library? Practically no one goes to it. It’s bound to be almost empty and it’s not too far from here.”

“It’ll have to do for now. At least we can get our bearings there.”

 _Crunch_! They turned their heads behind them, noticed the wooden fence starting to bend and break due to the hoard’s determination to bypass this obstacle. There was no more time to waste. They had to move if they wanted to stay alive. Unlike those attempting to chase after them right now, the ones lingering on the other side of the street were currently distracted by the bodies they were already consuming. He also noticed that some were wandering aimlessly on the outskirts of his vision, but, so long as they stayed silent, they should be able to sneak past the vast majority of them.

They left the back of the house and made their way down the street at a leisurely pace so as not to attract too much attention. Of all things to occur at that exact moment, however, his ringtone just had to go off. Stan knew who was calling him without having to look at the caller ID. “God dammit, Butters.”

He almost ran into Kyle when Kyle decided to come to a standstill. The creatures surrounding them had stopped their previous actions, slowly focusing on the source of Lorde’s voice. Stan took that as his cue to quickly shut the ringer off, but the damage was already done. Through his teeth, he muttered, “Kyle, what do we do?”

“Don’t move.”

“We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

“I hate to say it, but probably.”

And then the zombies started to surround them. Again, this was how his life was going to end? How depressing. A flash of yellow entered Stan’s peripheral vision. The crunch of metal and bone sounded as a truck slammed into those in front of them. 

Kyle blinked in surprise, “Cartman ex Machina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the songs "Daisy" by Brand New nor do I own "Maniac" by Flashdance. All songs are owned by their appropriate artists.


	6. Author's Note

Hey everyone, I feel like it's important that I update this story even though it's technically not an update. In reality, I'm reposting Don't Drink the Water as a new story due to all of the changes I've made. I felt like it wouldn't be fair to simply edit every chapter I've written in this one. I won't be posting the updated version as a new story until I finished the first arc and am well on my way to the second. Most pairings will be removed, because I've found, after writing a good chunk of this, that I feel much more confident as a story teller when I shift my focus away from romance. I'm still an avid shipper, I just feel like adding ships will take the focus too much away from the story. At most there will be three remaining ships (if you're curious), Tweek/Craig, Clyde/Bebe (I'm going to try really hard to add these two), and Token/Wendy. 

Feel free to let me know any elements you liked in this story, etc. etc. I'm still having a lot of fun with it and want to become a stronger writer as a result of this.


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